Taken
by underestateofsorrow
Summary: When Bella's father gets remarried, an older stepbrother, Edward, comes into the equation. After the unthinkable happens, things take a turn for the worst with Edward's need to control her and to be loved by her. Mature themes/obsessed Edward. AH. Not exactly a love story, but a warped tale and study of obsession. Will have happiest ending as can possibly be.
1. The Older Stepbrother

**I own nothing to do with Twilight, and never will.**

_**This Edward and Bella are step-siblings, Edward's mother married Bella's dad. They have only been married for a year and in that time, Bella has noticed her step-brother is very controlling in all that she does and how he looks at her body very inappropriately. She is a little unaware of the reasons into why he does the things he does, but it will become ultimately clear as chapters progress.**_

_**Bella is eighteen in September. Edward is twenty-six. **_

_**Rating: Will definitely go up to an M, as further chapters progress. This Edward will be very manipulative, and nurses some pretty obsessive tendencies for our Bella. **__**Mature themes; character death, and crude language. **_

_**PLEASE TAKE NOTE: This Edward is eight years older than Bella. He first started liking her when she was FOURTEEN and he, TWENTY TWO (Some have said this pedophilia)- Please know that I do not condone it, and DO NOT mean any offense by it, if taken that way. Edward says some lewd comments that are inappropriate towards a young girl, I apologize if it's taken into wrong context.**_

_**If you are wondering whether or not you'll find certain topics offensive, such as the obsessed, deranged love Edward has for Bella- even at a young age, then please don't read further. There will be no rape in the story, but a lot of pleading and manipulation for love to be returned, the love is mostly one-sided, but with a turn of events, things might change.**_

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><p><em><strong>Taken <strong>_

_**And so it is, the shorter story,  
>No love, no glory,<br>No hero in her eyes.  
>I can't take my eyes off of you.<br>Oh, did I say, that I loathe you?  
>Did I say, that I want to leave it all behind?<br>I can't take my mind off of you,  
>'till I find somebody new<br>- Damien Rice, The Blower's Daughter  
><strong>_

At five o'clock in the afternoon, I am sitting sprawled out in my folded, rusting aluminum chair in the front yard, working on getting brown. I am wearing my favorite yellow print polka-dot bikini, which really didn't leave much to the imagination.

Not if you were a boy, anyway.

My best friend Alice, at school, told me that, whenever a boy saw a girl wearing nothing but a bikini, they couldn't help but stare.

That theory was about to be tested.

I close my eyes and lean my head back, feeling the gentle summertime breeze cooling my flushed and heated skin. It is relaxing and quiet outside in the front yard, with only the sound of the scattering unraked leaves, and the branches of the large looming maple trees lining our yard rustling in the calm wind to be heard.

Just as I feel myself slipping into a peaceful, calming sleep, I hear a noise.

The sound of a vehicle coming down the long driveway; Ashphalt and leaves crackling underneath a set of rolling tyres. My eyes flit open at once in alarm and, just as soon as I hear it, I realize it's only my step-brother Edward's silver volvo accelerating up the crooked winding bend of the driveway, it's shiny polished exterior glinting and reflecting glaringly in the sun off into my eyes.

He's home. I honestly dreaded these moments.

His car skids a fraction over the loose bits of rocky ashphalt laid on our driveway, when he makes a quick and abrupt stop. The car jerks forward a bit, and then the gurgling engine cuts off. A door on the left opens. A set of polished black loafers appear as he climbs out, his height making him duck down low and swoop out, then as he turns his body to the side to slam it shut with a creaky racket of noise, the gravel underneath the heels of his work shoes crackle loudly with his movements.

Edward was the only child and son of my step-mother, Esme, who married my father, Charlie, last fall.

He is older than me by eight years, and because of the age difference, and the fact he gets a regular income by working a nine-to-five hour office job as an advertising executive, he believes he has the right to dictate everything I do, right down to what I wear and, especially, who I'm allowed to date.

But if I wanted another responsible father figure in my life, I would have asked.

Almost as if he can feel my eyes on him, evaluating him and assessing him curiously to judge whatever wretched mood he is in today, he tilts his head to the side, inspecting our yard. Then, those eyes fall right onto me.

A particularly unnerving sensation overcomes me, as though I've been sprayed by a hose of trickling ice-cold water, as he turns and starts stalking toward me, like a man on a mission. I don't know whether to dart quickly inside, or to just resume there relaxingly in my fold-out chair. Either way, I knew what was coming.

He is wearing his usual work clothes; a white dressy buttoned-up shirt and tie underneath, with dark grey dress pants. The tie is light aqua blue, and fastened to his collar with a green almond shaped tie-clip. He has his men's blazer off, draped along his right shoulder with a crooked index finger.

Just with the way he walks at me, in long urgent strides, as he slips his unused hand deeply into the trouser pocket at his side, as well as his jingling set of car keys, I knew he was in a huff about me sunbaking outside our front yard.

For some reason, he also acted incredibly protective of me, playing up his role of adult step-brother. This included, who saw me in a bathing suit, I was presuming, since he looked so pissed off at me; He wouldn't be too happy with the possibility of anyone seeing me so scantily covered, after all. _His little pure seventeen-year-old step-sister._

Deliberately, I slide my round-rimmed sunglasses back over my eyes, nursing them at the front of my nose, just so he can't tell I've noticed his arrival home.

It didn't work as well as I'd hoped, though.

I was kind of naively hoping he would assume I had fallen asleep out in the yard while lounging around in the sun, and that consequently, it would cause him to turn right around and head back for the door to step inside the house, leaving me in peace.

But Edward wasn't that dumb.

He knew when I was truly sleeping, or when I was deliberately trying to evade him. He knew that by slipping my sunglasses on and pretending I was dozing, I was trying to do exactly that.

_Evade him._

He stops right in front of me, throwing a long slender shadow imprint right at where I'm sunbathing. It covers all over my skin, and the sudden loss of sunlight against my skin leaves me trembling inside.

I feel goosepimples raise on the sides of my arms, lifting all the little short hairs, and I am unable to contain the shiver that ripples through my spine downwards, failing all intended short-lived plans of acting almost comatose.

He notices. _Of course_, he does, with those overly attentive eyes of his.

"Are you wearing sunscreen?"

As he says it, his light bluish-green eyes run down my legs appraisingly in a very inappropriate manner for an older step-brother to do.

His light auburn hair is windblown from the humid breeze, curled strands of his fringe dipping into his creased forehead. Awkwardly, I cover over my bare midriff with my long gangly arms.

Maybe I had always been too eager to shun that whole line of thinking off, but Edward was always looking at me in a way that sincerely bugged me to the core.

Even at the dinner table, I always caught him staring at me, while I ate; A bit like he was counting how many eyelashes I had, or something. Or a bit like he was truly fascinated by me.

It was seriously creepy.

I suppose then, Alice was right on her theory. Not that I wanted my step-brother, of all people, to be ogling my body in a tiny bathing suit.

I sigh, and fold my hands over my chest self-consciously. "That kind of defeats the purpose when you're trying to get brown," I say, in my flattest voice.

"Right, of course."

And still, there he stood, blocking the sun...

The eyes are on my bare legs again, paying my thighs avid attention. Just as I'm considering leaning over and grabbing my towel to cover myself, and protect myself from those shining pervy eyes of his, he clears his throat and tears his eyes away. Took him long enough, _gross_.

"Where's my mother?" he asks, quite belatedly.

"Inside getting started on dinner early," I say. To Esme- Edward's real mother and my step-mother- the kitchen was like a second home to her. But to her credit, she was an amazing cook. Lucky us. "She's grilling rump steak with baked potatoes and green beans," I add, knowing this will please him, like it does most men, I'm pretty sure.

Alice also told me the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Not that I wanted Edward's heart or anything like that, but I did want him to go easy on me.

He licks his bottom lip and says with the merest hint of a smile, "Excellent. I'm hungry all ready."

No surprises there. Edward was always hungry whenever he arrived home from a day's work.

Then, with a deadly serious expression which told me he wasn't done with me yet, he says, through glistening wet lips and shiny teeth, "You should probably put on some sunscreen before your fair skin burns."

I roll my eyes, which goes unnoticed by him, since I'm wearing my sunglasses. "Yes,_ father_," I groan, swinging my bony legs to the side of the chair. I reach over for my towel.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch him smile vastly and throw his head back, stifling down a chuckle. He was too altogether amused by my words. _Heaven knows why._

I stand and fling my white cotton towel securely around my waist, knotting it tightly above the side of my hip to keep it in place.

I'm fairly certain he's still grinning broadly as I go to step past him, and just as I'm nearing past his shoulder to get away from him, he leans down behind me, closely so that his warm moist breaths tickle my ear, "Trust me; you wouldn't want your father thinking about you in the way that I do," he says, rather huskily. "That would be extremely perverted and incestual."

I am startled and maybe even believe I had imagined the whole thing.

I turn to look up at him inquiringly, searching for any indication on his face that I had somehow conjured up the whole perverted comment inside my head, but he's looking down at his fancy work shoes. His face gives away nothing.

_O-kay. That's not a weird thing to say at all..._

Before I am full of courage and able enough to ask him to repeat himself daringly, he begins to walk to the front door of the house. I follow slowly, keeping my eyes on his back. The wispy-looking material of his shirt is creased, straining against his shoulders.

Just as he opens the fly-screen door, he turns and glances behind his shoulder at me. He stares at me for a lingering moment, his expression thoughtful. Something comes over him, a peculiar glint to his sun-bright eyes.

He looks as if he is about to say something, something most likely inappropriate, but then decides against it and says another thing instead entirely. "Soon when you're eighteen," he says, just loud enough that I can hear him. "In due time," he finishes with a sly wink, and I don't know what he means. At all.


	2. An Unnerving Toast

_**I own nothing to do with Twilight, and never will.**_

_**Thank you all so much for your feedback, I really hope you will enjoy this chapter, and feel free to let me know your thoughts.**_

_**Chapter Two**_

Dinnertime in our household wasn't a very eventful one.

We all sat in our exact same places as every other night before it; my step-mom, Esme, on one long end of the table, and my father, Charlie, at the other. Edward and I sat across from each other, and I suppose that was where he learned his little staring habit.

Esme has served us- as promised- grilled steak, baked potatoes, and a side of green beans. I watch as Charlie slices a chunk of his steak, then pops it into his mouth. His expression changes: from boredom into pure bliss, topped off with an appreciative moan. The thick onion gravy Esme has drenched over the grilled steak paints the tufted bristles of his graying moustache.

"Delicious, honey," he complements Esme, who gives him a delighted smile in response.

Just as I'm cutting my beans, she speaks over her side of the table, "So, Bella honey. How was your first day of year ten?" Esme was all for hearing about our days. "Did anything exciting happen?"

"Not really," I tell her. "I just already have loads of assignments I have to do. We'll be getting a lot more compulsory assignments to complete this year."

Her face gets animated halfway through my conversation, and she groans. "Oh, I hated homework when I was your age." She darts a fond look over at her son, who is blissfully unaware in front of me, shoving forkloads of food down his throat. "Edward, you hated homework when you were Bella's age too, didn't you? Remember that time you lied to your Math teacher and said you accidently threw your assignment in the trash?"

Edward sighs and twirls his fork in midair. "Yes, mom. I remember. I got expelled that year and you threatened to ground me for six months." Charlie gives out a throaty laugh from his side of the table.

I was truly impressed; Edward got expelled when he was my age? Huh. And here I was, thinking he was an insufferable goody-two-shoes, since he enjoyed lecturing me on the importance of education so much. _Hypocrite._

Esme clears her throat. "Anyway. So Edward, how was your day at work, dear?"

"It was fine," Edward says curtly, shovelling a mouthful of beans into his mouth this time around. How... charming. He finishes, through a muffled mouthful, "I just had a client in today about their advertising campaign. That's it, enough said."

I guess we were both the same in the fact that we hated making small-talk about our day's. But that was honestly where the similarities between us ended.

There wasn't much resemblance to Edward and me, but what do you expect? We didn't share the same genetic pool.

His father, Esme's ex-husband, I last heard was doing five-years in jail for theft.

We were both dark-haired, though, Edward's was a lucky mixture that looked a hot red gold, depending on which way the sunlight hit it. He also got lucky enough to be blessed with bluish-green eyes, while I was stuck with the plain brown I inherited from my father, Charlie.

If I considered what Edward must have looked like in another non-by-marriage-related girl's eyes, I could sure see that he would be considered handsome. Six-feet tall, with broad shoulders and an even build; Not too lanky, but not too muscular. Just the right fit. High prominent cheekbones. Full lips. Masculine shaped chin, kept free of scruff and clean shaven most of the time, aside from weekends, in which he had off from work. He could be selfish and stubborn too, but that was only blatantly obvious if you spent hours living in the same house as him on a daily basis.

Halfway through dinner, Esme decides to pop out the champagne. She fills four glasses with the clear bubbling liquid- with mine being the least full, since I was underage- then Charlie rises from his chair, announcing that we should all do a toast for the long year ahead of us.

"Oh yes," Esme agrees, short of a cry. "To my new husband, Charlie and my new step-daughter Bella, who with Edward makes my family complete and whole again," she says, her voice breathless and soft with emotion.

"Here, here," Charlie agrees, clinking his glass against hers.

I decide to jump in uncertainly: "To a new year filled with new beginnings and happiness." It seems both Charlie and Esme agree to my toast, because they both toast each other again.

Then, a silence falls over where my step-mother and Charlie glance down at Edward expectantly.

Edward leans over in his chair to touch his glass gently to mine. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity, that my heart skips a beat in anxiety. "To eighteen," he says very quietly and softly, like he doesn't want to be overheard. Then, much louder and clear, "To my new family."

It seems our married parents had only heard the second toasting, because they both jump out of their seats to clink glasses with both of us; Esme almost in tears and my father grinning broadly.

I take a wary sip from my glass, and lift my eyes to Edward again, who's eyes immediately meet my look. He is smiling as if he's won the lottery and even in the warm dining room, I shiver underneath his look.

I realize I'm not breathing and wonder if I'm about to pass out.

His toast mirrors the words he uttered outside when I was done with sunbathing today and, even then, I still don't quite understand what he means. I start to wonder suspiciously if there is something he knows that I don't, and whether if Charlie and my step-mom were all involved in it. But then with a decisive shake of my head, I realize I'm probably just only being paranoid.

I try to swallow down all of my uncertainty, and force myself to continue eating, avoiding everyone around me, keeping my eyes on my grilled steak. And then without warning, someone's bare foot is rubbing up against my ankle, their skin warm and rough.

I duck my head underneath the table for a quick peek and discover it is Edward's foot chafing against mine. I feel horrified at the realization it's him playing footsies with me underneath the table while our parents are oblivious, and I am caught completely unsure of what to do about it.

I raise my eyes to look over at him and he looks as if he is trying to hide a smirk; the corners of his mouth twitching. He lifts his glass of champagne to his mouth and tilts his head back to swallow it all down greedily in mouthfuls, as if parched over the inappropriate gesture, his masculine throat muscles knotting together.

Even as he sets his freshly empty glass down, and runs his pink tongue down the side of his mouth, his foot doesn't stop with it's heated rubbing, until I gather enough courage to kick him as hard as possible in the shin with my toes. He wiggles in his chair a bit over my blow, and I can feel my temper rising internally through frustrated silence. I hop to my feet quickly.

Charlie and my step-mom still in loving conversation, to throw their heads up to look at me in alarm.

"I'm going to get an early night," I explain to them, as evenly as possible. They both nod in understanding, while Esme rises from her chair to give me a gentle kiss on the cheek.

I don't look at him when I tuck my chair in, nor do I when I gather my plate and cutlery and take it into the kitchen. After rinsing my plate and cutlery, I start on my way up the staircase to my room, which was on the second floor of our house. My dad and Esme had their own floor downstairs, while Edward and I had our rooms on the second floor of the house.

To get to my room, I had to go left down the polished hardwood floor hallway to where my room was right at the very end, while to get to Edward's bedroom, you'd have to take the right.

Just as I'm halfway up the stairs, I hear their low chatter in the dining room. My step-mother sounded very worried. I pause every few steps climbed up the staircase and listen. There was a faint murmering of voices going on; Esme asking my father what was wrong with me, if I was feeling all right?

Then, to my horror, Edward was butting in. "She's just started a new year at school, she's bound to be tired..."

Of course, he would make up some lame excuse when in actuality, it was him that was bugging me in my own home and causing me distress by doing an inappropriate thing with his foot underneath the table. Maybe he was just doing it to get a rise out of me and, if that truly was his intention, he had succeeded.

In my room, I have my single bed with a white-painted-wood chest of drawers where I kept all of my underwear, pajamas, clothes, and other necessities inside.

It was very roomy, which I liked. I was never one to be concerned about materialistic things, while I'm pretty sure in Edward's, you could find a widescreen television and a huge mahogany bookcase shelved with millions of paperback novels. I had only stepped foot in Edward's room once before, and that was while he was away at work. I was curious. But, so long as I had my father Charlie with me, I felt right as rain living here with a new step-mom, and weird step-brother.

I click on my light and shut the door behind me. Just as I began peeling off my clothes, I caught sight of the illuminated red numbers on my alarm clock; It was already nine-thirty at night, so I decided then I might as well try to get an early night's sleep anyway.

I slip into my black silk pajama pants and a plain white V-neck shirt, which was three sizes too big, switch off the light, and crawl into bed, relishing in the amazing silence and darkness of my bedroom.

Just as I'm starting to get comfortable and am lolling into a peaceful slumber, there is a noise outside my door. Someone is standing outside, while trying to be awfully quiet about it, I could tell.

Just as I sit up with my back against my pillow, the doorknob jiggles gently. Someone was trying to enter. Maybe Esme coming in to check on me, to make sure I was all right?

Then, the door slowly creaks half-open. Something rustles against the wood, and then my door falls shut again. Peaceful, still quiet.

_And, then..._

"Bella, are you awake?" A ragged intake of breath. A long hiss through his teeth. "I hope you are, because I honestly can't sleep, and I'm feeling cold just by standing here."

The floorboards creak underneath his footsteps. I'm not breathing; I can't seem to be able to even possess the capability within me underneath the shock of him entering my room.

"Now, move over before I freeze to death." His voice is closer to my bed than I expected.

When my father broke out the news that we would be moving into a bigger house with Esme and her twenty-five year old son, this wasn't what I had expected to happen. At all.


	3. Bedside Bonding

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your encouraging reviews. I loved reading them and hearing your thoughts. So sorry if this chapter isn't up to par, just some good ol' bonding here. ;)**

**And, yes... this Edward is a little peculiar lol.**

**Hope you enjoy. Feel free to let me know.**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Three<em>**

I flop onto my stomach and stretch over to click on my lamplight on the desk next to my bed, then hastily fall onto my back to stare him down.

I couldn't believe the nerve he had; Didn't he know there were certain boundaries between two kind-of-related people, that should not be crossed? Ever. And sharing a bed was one of them. Well, maybe if we were five it would have been acceptable. But not when he is twenty-five, and I'm eighteen this year.

It was wrong on all levels.

He's standing near my bed, shivering in his thin clothes. He is wearing thin striped black and gray boxer briefs, and a sleeveless white shirt, which is V-necked and shows off the generous amount of curly hair that has developed on his chest. The sleeveless shirt also pays tribute to his long white arms; Not too muscular but not too thin, either. Just like the rest of him.

He shivers and rubs along his arms, causing warm friction. "Do you want me to just stand here, freezing my balls off all night?"

"I'm not letting you in my bed next to me, Edward," I tell him decisively. "It's wrong."

"Who says it's wrong?" he asks, disbelief showing. "My mother said I have to be nicer to you and that I have to put in a little more effort in getting to know you. I figured, what better way than sharing a bed together?"

I was grateful Esme had gone through all the effort in lecturing him; Clearly she could see for herself that Edward and I do not get along, and that he was always being rude and starting petty arguments with me. Still, I was sure this wasn't quite what she had in mind and, if I told her in the morning, she would have been disgraced over his behaviour.

"Oh, that's rich of you." I part my legs wide, so I'm taking up as much room on my single bed as possible.

Then, I see my mistake in doing so.

He enjoys it, at least I'm sure he does, with the way his expression darkens wildly. His eyes glaze over, in mischief. The bottom of my mattress depresses, as he slowly sets one bony knee onto my bed, pushing all his weight down while he collects my feet in both hands by the ankles, sinewy fingers overlapping roughly. I try to kick him off, but it's no good.

"I think I like this position," he says, breathlessly. "You with your legs out like this. I can see this working out."

"Oh my God!" I literally yell, as he starts crawling between my splayed out legs, with a daunting smile planted on his face.

I think I understand what he's trying to do the second he goes for it, and I hold my hands out protectively, as he goes to slump himself in between my parted legs.

"Edward, I will scream really loud and wake up dad and your mother!" I warn, my words fast and jumbled and urgent.

He immediately stops playing around and stares at me critically, hands resting on my sunken mattress, as he bends over it. He looks wounded and scoffs, "Bella, I was just playing around. Like I would actually really try to force you into letting me sleep with you."

Well, it seemed like something he would do...

"Well, this wasn't what your mother had in mind when she asked you to get to know me better," I tell him, which should have been obvious to him. He was older for goodness sake, surely he had the smarts to work it out. "She meant asking me questions and taking the time to listen."

"Okay, so." He adopts a concentrated expression on his face. "Tell me about school. How's that going for you?"

I think I liked him better when he wasn't being gross. "Well, I've made a few new friend's all ready. My best friend, Alice, we've been inseparable since year seven. And yesterday, she told me she has a crush on the school quarterback, Jasper. He is a year older than us, though. He doesn't know she exists, which is sad really, because she is such a beautiful person."

"Well, if she wants him to start noticing her, tell her not to wear a bra. Problem solved."

"Eck." I scrunch my nose up. Great, just when I was starting to think we were getting along nicely... "Is it possible for you to be serious, just for one minute?"

"Okay, okay." He puts on a serious face. "So, what about you? Any boys that capture your interest?"

"Well, there was this one boy," I admit reluctantly, then glance up at him. He was looking too interested, for some reason. He straightens up into a standing position, looming over the edge of my bed. He crosses his forearms against his chest, substantial bicep muscles bulging out from his fair skin. He is still shivering from the cold, I can tell."I thought he liked me, too. There was some mild flirtation there in the lockerbays. But then, the next day, suddenly I caught him tonguing this girl at his locker. So, clearly that didn't work out."

The boy in question, was Michael Newton. I thought we were getting to know one another really well, and that he might have liked me, because he would smile and go all quiet whenever he saw me in the hallways. I would have to be the one to initiate conversation, because he was too nervous to.

And then one morning, I pull up my big girl panties to approach him at his locker and ask him what classes he has for the day, to find he already has a girl, Jessica Stanley, shoving her tongue down his throat. It didn't cause me that much heartbreak, though. I figured I mustn't have liked him as much as I initially thought.

"He was making out with another girl?" he repeats, sounding out raged. Like the idea to him was ludicrous. It was nice that he cared enough to get riled up over it. "She must have had bigger tits than you. No other explanation."

I roll my eyes. There he goes again. "Seriously, is that all you ever think a guy can possibly like a girl for?" I ask, stunned. "Her body?"

"Well, it's true sometimes. At first, then he starts liking her personality. Boobs and ass first, always."

It was strange; I never once imagined I would ever be receiving such advice from him on boys and how their brains worked. But since he was one himself, I suppose he was right.

"Charming," I mumble derisively."And are you like that, too?" I ask, a little nervous.

"Not anymore," he says, sounding so carefree and confident. "I mean I was when I was like, your age. But then at your age, our sex hormones are raging. It's all sex, sex, sex."

"Yeah, but. It's still all about sex to you," I point out, pretty darn sure. He was always saying rude stuff to me. That alone was reason enough.

He laughs quietly. "I only say shit like that to you, because I can see how much it bothers you. You get so angry and insulted, it's hilarious!"

"Well, I'm glad I amuse you," I sigh, a little miffed. Then realize we're in dire need of a subject change. "What's work like? You sounded pretty annoyed at dinner today, when Esme asked about it."

"Yeah, I just had a difficult client," he sighs, bringing his hands up to rub at the back of his neck tiredly. "He started getting all in my face, acting totally unprofessional to the point where I wanted to clobber him and tell him to back his shit away from me."

I was stunned; Edward didn't seem like the violent type... Gross with the potential of being a sex offender, yes, which I could totally see, but never brutally violent. Well, sort of, about the sex offender bit since he came across as such a sexual person in my eyes.

"Well, that must have sucked," I whisper sympathetically.

"It did."

A bout of comfortable silence erupted between us for several minutes, where he just stands there at the foot of my bed in his boxers with his hairy legs on show, until I threw my head back to peer over at my alarm clock; The illuminated numbers told me it was already past ten. I had to be at school by eight. I definitely needed the early night after the stress of starting the new year.

"I think it's time for me to go to sleep," I tell him, and he understands at once. He makes a start towards the door and I turn my back on him, pulling my covers over myself and tucking my feet in to keep them toasty warm.

Then, I realized something...

I realize, we had the potential to become close friends, as well as step-siblings. I could totally see myself confiding in him whenever I had troubles with boys and school; it was a nice feeling, to know we could get along.

It took a lot of pride to admit to myself, that maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

But that nice feeling didn't last long though, because the next thing I knew he was turning into his old irritating, sex-obsessed persona again. At least I got to enjoy it, however brief it was.

"By the way, thanks for wearing a bikini in the yard today," he says, as if it's an afterthought. "I've stored the imagery in my vault for later."

I arch an eyebrow over at him, "Vault?" I'd never heard the term before.

He points a bony forefinger up at his temple. Finally I get it. His head. His memory. Eww.

"It'll really help with, you know..." He winks at me suggestively, then makes an obscene gesture, sinewy hand level to the fly on his boxers and fingers curled, imitating sliding it up and down slowly, implying his- -

Without any ounce of control on it, my mind just decides to go there. To suddenly picturing Edward in his bedroom, the door shut, hand in his pants, his ragged breathing... Oh, gross.

Somehow I manage to flounder my way back down to earth, and sanity, through the impure hazy imagery of my own. "I should never have believed for one second that you could ever be mature," I spit out, disgusted. "You are such a sick boy!"

My gag reflexes were working really well, I found out then.

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><p>Next early morning, I woke to a kitchen table full of people. My step-mother, Charlie, and... Edward. Fun times.<p>

He didn't look up at me as Esme jumped from the chair she was sitting in to attack me with a hug, nor did he when I poured myself a bowl of fruitloops. I guess he had forgotten all about our little bonding session last night, which had me relieved. It meant I could forget about it, too.

Once I settle in and start eating, Esme makes an announcement to the table. "Charles and I were thinking, there is a local baseball game coming up at the stadium this Saturday which would be a really nice opportunity for some fun family bonding."

She looks at Edward eagerly, but he's not paying any attention to anything except his cereal. He looks completely bored, resting a hand flat against the side of his face to support himself, while he keeps ladelling his spoon with milk, then dripping said milk back into his bowl. It's seriously annoying, all the trickling sounds it makes.

"Bella?" She looks over at me for advice, just as eager.

"Uh, I think it's a good idea," I tell her, trying to sound enthusiastic and eager. "We should totally do it!"

At my words, milk is sprayed onto the table and Edward is coughing, milk rolling down underneath his chin. I re-evaluate what I've just said in response and then realize he was dirty-minded enough to think only of what other terms my words could be interpreted.

"Oh, Edward, honey," Esme says, short of a cry.

She jumps out of her seat immediately at once and gathers up a napkin. She starts babying him; wiping underneath his chin and ruffling his short hair, cooing like he's an infant.

I roll my eyes. What the hell? He's twenty-five, not a baby!

He catches my disgusted stare. "Mom." His cheeks redden just the slightest bit, as he pushes her hands gently away. "I'm fine. The milk just went down the wrong way."

His mother stares down at him, profound love in her bright eyes. It's like she was completely blind to his faults, to the fact he had a disgusting sense of humour. You could tell she totally doted on him.

"It's okay, honey," she says in a sing-song voice, then pinches his chin tenderly with her fingers.

_Honey?_ If only she knew how gross he was and how he was pestering me last night. I think then, her view on her son would change completely.


	4. Terrible Mood

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

"So, this might be a stupid suggestion, but my step-brother mentioned a way to get Jasper's attention. It involves wearing no bra."

Without hesitation, Alice flings her sports bra off eagerly through her school shirt and stows it into her handbag. I was a little shocked; Alice's breasts were definitely more developed than mine. Surprisingly, I found myself feeling a bit envious, which was not like me at all. Realistically, nor was it like herself for Alice to go without a bra. I felt like such a bad friend for suggesting it, then.

"Alice, I'm sorry for suggesting this," I whisper urgently, while she checks herself out self-consciously in the tall mirror above the school basin. There was definitely... more of her to be seen, since she no longer had any support there. Or coverage; she was clearly cold. Her... nipples were peeking through the material. "Maybe it isn't the right way to go about getting Jasper's attention. I didn't mean to make you feel like you have to do something so... so... cheap and dishonest to yourself."

"Bella," she sighs miserably, still not taking her eyes off her chest in the mirror's reflection. She looks truly depressed. It was heartbreaking. "If you haven't noticed, I'm all ready at loss of what to do to get him to notice me myself. I'm teetering on the edge of the cliff of desperation right now."

"Listen, Alice. I didn't mean to say that Jasper was like that at all. Afterall, you said he doesn't sound like the superficial type. Maybe you should just-"

"Bella, it's okay." She turns to glance over at me. There's a whole lot of fear in her eyes about what she's about to do, as well as a trembling apprehension in her voice. "Besides I've seen him talk to Lauren Mallory a few times. Maybe he likes girls more like her?"

"Ugh." I shake my head in distress. Lauren Mallory was a girl Jasper Hale's age, a regular on the cheerleading team. She often forgo her bra during training sessions, and her breasts bounced something shocking due to all the impact her wild, enthusiastic jumping and cheering left on them. It was horrifying. "Alice, I'm sure he doesn't like a girl like Lauren Mallory. She's gross."

She turns to face the mirror again, then pouts. "I bet he doesn't think she is gross, though..."

"Oh, Alice." I take her firmly by the shoulders and steer her away from her reflection. One of us had to be the strong one in the situation and it had to be me.

Well, it was probably easier considering I wasn't the one about to waltz out of the girls bathroom in a tight white shirt and no bra.

"This is a little stupid. I mean, you're the most smartest, amazingly honest girl I know." I try to smile encouragingly for her. "If this is what you have to do to get a guy to notice you, to make him really see you, then he isn't worth it. He's dumb and not worth any of your time."

A faint smile softens her severely downcast expression. "Bella, this is the reason why you're my best friend. I love you and totally agree with you, it is ridiculous..." A small determined glint glazes over her dark eyes. "And if this doesn't capture his attention, then I'll officially give up. I'll forget all about him and pretend I never even liked him. But... I know it'll work. It has to. So..." She takes firm hold of my shoulders in turn, and we both stare into each other's eyes meaningfully.

"We can do this," we both say fiercely in unison, and exit the girls bathroom with bravery in our strides.

But the instance we step out of the girls bathroom and through the corridor past the lockerbays, it only confirmed my fears that taking Edward's advice was a big mistake.

Alice's target, quarterback Jasper Hale, is at one of the lockersbays to the right, just as expected. Only he isn't alone; A cluster of hot-blooded teenage boys, his friends, crowd around him like moths to a flame. One of them, another boy I recognize as a player from the Forks football team, decides to take advantage of Alice's bra-less state as we wander idly past them. He wolf-whistles really loudly. Beside me, I can practically feel Alice writhering away in embarrassment. Still, I was glad I wasn't her right about then.

"Hey Alice Brandon," the guy says in a grossly grating voice, making no effort in hiding his leering.

With his unnerving greeting, at long last Jasper Hale lifts his head and takes a look in her direction. I feel like screaming in exultation at the top of my lungs, when his eyes take in all of her curiously, from her ballet flats to her white button-down school shirt, where the top buttons are straining not so modestly against her breasts. I'm fairly positive his eyes bulged out a little at the realization she was rocking it bra-less today. But, in the true act of a gentleman, he quickly glances down at his gym trainers, looking a little flustered. It was adorable, regardless.

But his gawking friend went one further. "Nice rack," he laughs, sounding impressed. Then throws in a few obscene slurping noises for good measure.

Cue Alice going as red as a beetroot. And then unexpectedly, cue Jasper Hale pummelling Obscene Guy against the chest roughly with his fist.

"Shut up, man," he rumbles out, very defensively. "Don't be saying shit about her like that."

Unable to contain herself, Alice throws her head back to look at him and a flustered high-pitched giggle tears through her mouth in surprise and, more apparent, delight.

"Uh, hey Jasper," she says, in a very breathy voice.

He looks a little frightened that she is talking to him, and clears his throat loudly. "Hey there yourself, Alice," he says back, equally as nervous.

Alice is literally bouncing with joy as we reach the end of the corridor. Once out of earshot of Jasper and his gross friends, she throws her hands into the air and lets her head fall back with a joyful squeal. I join in with her, until we are both hopping around and laughing in amazement, breathlessly gushing over the fact that she finally made progress with her crush. Not only that, but he noticed her. He knew her name, despite the two never speaking directly to one another.

It was then, that I realized just how suited Alice and Jasper Hale would be. I would always shun it off whenever she spoke about how sweet he seemed whenever she would overhear him talking to someone else. While she was too shy to initiate conversation with him, she took great pleasure in eavesdropping in on his conversations with other classmates or one of his friends every chance she got. He seemed equally as shy and reserved as she was.

Finally, things were looking up for her. And while the method we used in garnering his attention was a little cheap and unorthodox, there was no denying it worked somewhat well.

I would have to remember to thank Edward later tonight after school.

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><p>Once the day of school is over, I arrive home just after four o'clock. I get started on the general house chores that are expected of me dutifully, including my washing. I grab my dirty clothes in bundles and toss them into the laundry hamper, then carry the hamper downstairs to the laundry room. I couldn't seem to stop smiling over how school went today, with Alice at last getting some form of attention from her crush. She hadn't stopped talking about it all day.<p>

Humming to myself, I untangle my socks and underwear and throw them into the machine, along with a few shirts. Absentmindedly, I hear someone tapping their fingers against the plaster wall behind me to get my attention. What the hell?

I spin around in alarm to be greeted with a smiling guy around Edward's age. He is very muscular, like a bodybuilder of some sort. Kind of cute too... with the way that he was grinning at me. He's also holding a carton of beer in one of his hands. Ah, that alone gives me reason enough to assume he is a friend of Edward's.

It wasn't often, but Edward occasionally had his older friends over for the evening. Only this guy, I hadn't met, or even seen before. They would come upstairs and enter his room first thing, sometimes after making somewhat forced-sounding, pleasant conversation with either Esme or my father, depending who was home first at the time.

They would shut themselves off in his room, listening to indie rock which would blare out from underneath his door, probably getting drunk, or high, or whatever else it was boy's Edward's age did.

"Hi there." His face softens into a dimpled grin. He holds out his free hand, "I'm a buddy of Edward's. The name's Emmett." I accept the hand and shake it. He nurses a strong, firm and confident grasp. Pretty impressive. He slides his hand free, then goes one further to knock his knuckles against mine lightly.

_Ah. Okay. Awkward much?_

"Hi. I'm Bella."

The dimpled smile widens eeirily into something close to recognition. "Ah, it's the infamous Isabella!" He says in an exagerratedly low-pitched sing-song voice. I laugh; I can't seem to help myself. "I've heard a heck of a lot about you, if I do say so myself."

"You have?" I laugh again, uncertainly.

"Yep. Edward's told me lots about you." Maybe there's something worrisome on my face, because he is quick to add, "All good things, of course," and runs his light blue eyes down my body, very slowly and obviously. "He was right. I'd _totally_ tap that!"

"I beg your pardon?" Surely I've heard incorrectly.

He chokes out a gustful of laughter and opens his mouth, about to explain, only the second he starts to, Edward comes into the laundry room. He freezes, the second he notices that we've been talking briefly for some reason.

He looks at his friend pointedly, lifting a dark eyebrow. "Emmett, what's up?" He is still dressed in his polished work suit, albeit the tie, which he must have removed the instance he got inside. The collar of his jacket is sticking up against his tensely erect neck. He looks tense and stressed, and his hair is messy and sticking up all over the place. Very unusual for him. "I thought I said to come straight up to my room when you get here?"

"Yeah, man. I was totally about to." His friend, Emmett, laughs again nervously, then lifts up the carton of beer that's dangling on his index finger. "I brought a little wicked treat for us. Thought you might need it after today, huh?"

"Fuck yeah, I need it," Edward sighs, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. He brings his eyes over to me, and the look he gives me is a little... off. Peculiar. "Em, why don't you go upstairs to my room and get started without me for a few minutes? Up the stairs to your right."

Something didn't seem right with him. At all... Surprisingly, I actually found myself concerned for him. Who would have thought?

"Uh, sure," His friend grunts, a little uncertainly. He throws his head back to look at me, "Nice meeting you, Isabella." I was struck by how friendly he was trying to be.

"Yeah, you too, Emmett..."

The second I hear his feet pounding up the staircase, I turn and go about my business again as if there was no interruption, taking all my dirty laundry from the washing hamper and stowing them into the washing machine.

"What was that all about, Bella?" I didn't even hear or notice him pop up from behind me, but somehow he had.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, a little distractedly. "Your friend just came in while I was halfway through loading my washing. So, now I'm finishing it before your mother and Charlie gets home so that they can do theirs if they have any."

He sighs roughly. "You know that isn't what I meant."

"Well, okay." I plop down the lid on the washing machine and hit the gentle wash button. "What did you mean then, Edward?" What the point was of this conversation? Who knows.

"What were you two talking about?" There is a lilt of cautious suspicion in his voice.

I collect the washing hamper and hold it in my arms, while I peer up at him tiredly. There is something there in his exhausted look; something I can't make out, or understand. "What's with all the questions? I just got home from school. Besides, why do you care? It's none of your business!"

Before it even registers, he knocks the washing hamper out of my hands. It hits the tiled flooring near me with a dull thud.

"Edward, what is your problem?" I ask, short of a defensive scream. My hands automatically fist into tight balls at my sides, fingernails digging agonizingly into the skin of my palms. "Why'd you do that? You jerk!"

Within an instance, he uses his whole weight to push me back against the washing machine, long arms constricting me while they clutch roughly at my sides. The small of my back presses into the cool, wobbling washing machine. I bristle, ready and prepared to smack him one. Only, I couldn't have moved or made to push him away even if I tried; I was just no match for him in terms of physical strength. Plus, the height difference wasn't helping any.

His breathing is heavy, and sickening, against my skin, as he pants all over my face, and there is a mean grimace playing on his lips.

"Edward, _ow_! What the hell is your problem?"

"You." He eyes me with flaring eyes full of hatred. It's a little startling, when I have no idea what is wrong with him at all, why he was behaving this way... "_You_ are what's bothering me. I only just had a shitty day at work and, now,_ you_!"

"Get away from me Edward, before I decide to tell your mother when she gets home," I warn, as calmly and evenly as possible, despite how much he was invading my personal space. "I'll... I'll tell her how you got angry and threw the laundry hamper on the floor and... and what you're doing now!"

"Just... just _don't_..." He moves his mouth so that it's roughly an inch away or so from mine. His voice is raspy and low with the threat. "_Don't_ talk to Emmett ever again. I don't want you even _associating,_ or having _any part_ of _anything,_ to do with my friends. Do you understand me, Bella?"

I surrender quickly, merely because I wanted him to get the hell away from me. "Yeah, okay! I _won't_!"

_ Not that I understood any reason into why not to..._

"Because if you do again..." God. More panting near my mouth. Suffocating_. Disgusting_. "...And I find out that you did, which no doubt _I will_, there will be consequences. Just don't talk to_ my_ friends, ever."

"Okay, okay," I say again quickly. I just want him to get away from me. Far away.

I feel slightly woozy, as he leans in closer again. His mouth is, give or take, a smidgen from touching mine.

"And, this goes for other guys. Understand, Bella?"

_God. I said it already. Just go away. Get away from me, away from me, away from me..._

"Bella?" His firm voice wavers with thick impatience. "I'm waiting. Do we have an agreement here, or _what_?"

I close my eyes, just so I don't have to look at him anymore. I can't stand it.

"Y-yes," I whimper. "An agreement."

"Good." He sounds hysterically pleased and I feel it, the moment he gets out of my personal space, at long last. "Because I've just endured a very tiring stressful day at work. Please don't make it worse."

And then, I listen to his footsteps until he is definitely gone. I let myself slide down onto the tiles on my knees, and take in a few needed deep breaths, through the bubble of fear rising in my throat.

It was the first time I had ever seen him act like that, in the full year that we had started living together as a family. The first time I had ever seen him lose himself in frustration and anger.

But it wasn't my fault, it wasn't because of anything I did, I tell myself then and collect myself off the floor with a steely resolve. He just had a very bad day at work and had some pent-up frustrations to let loose on somebody. Anybody.

_Me._

It was scary to see him like that. It had me all shaken up inside.


	5. A Thing

**Thank you all so much for your reviews, and alerts. Means so much to me. Hope you like this chapter. I fear it's a bit of a disappointment but... I managed to squeeze something out, I hope. :-)**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

I don't talk to him, or even look at him, throughout dinner. That doesn't mean he doesn't try with me, though.

I am purposefully ignoring him after how he acted so meanly this afternoon. I want him to feel guilty, I want him to feel as if he deserves the punishment I'm dishing out on him, because he does.

The way he took his temper out on me, was inexcusable.

No matter how bad or tiring a frustrating day at work was for him. I never took my frustrations out, on anybody. I kept them to myself. I was never intentionally mean to anyone.

I can feel his eyes on me all throughout dinner. I see the way his head tilts up into my direction through the top of my eyelids, more than once. It's like his eyes are lasers... searing depthless holes through my flesh.

Only halfway through my meal, when I stretch out my hand to accept my glass of water near my plate, lifting my eyes to swallow a few mouthfuls of the chilled water down, do my eyes meet his. I see the way the corners of his mouth quirks up contritely. I see the way his eyes dart back and forth rhythmically, with not quite being settled on one place; Eyes, then to my mouth as I drink. Eyes, to mouth... and all over again in procession.

I'll never know the reason why he stares at me the way he does.

While unbelievably uncomfortable, the effect it has on me, I think through the previous year of living together as a family, I've come to accept it, to get used to it, to view it as some form of normalcy from him.

I lower my eyes as quickly as I let them fall onto his, and wipe my wet mouth with the back of my hand.

And then, that's where the foot rubbing incident happens again...

This time, his feet are clad in socks, so it's not so much a shocking blow, as it was the first time he did it. His thinly cotton clad toes rub against my bare ones.

I know he is only trying to get my attention, that maybe... just _maybe_, this is his own personal way of apologizing over his angry outburst this afternoon, when his friend came over to visit. I think he realizes how harsh he had been on me. I don't care. I still don't give in.

Exhaling heavily through my nostrils while I chew on my meat laborously, I lean back in my chair and tuck my feet underneath the chair, wrapping my ankles around the long pine legs.

The distance I've put is, thankfully, enough that his feet cannot reach from where he is sitting. His knife gives out an ear-splitting shriek, as it scratches against his plate, while he tries to saw around the bone of his lamb chop, but he doesn't do anything, or say anything about it.

Not while Esme and Charlie are in the room eating, at least.

I refuse to break. I refuse to let myself steal so much as a peek at him.

By the time I've finished most of my dinner, aside from a few vegetables I'm too full to get through, I've won. I've succeeded in not paying him any attention, whatsoever.

High on my victory with giving this weird step-brother of mine the cold shoulder, I rise carefully from my chair. Charlie passes me his completely empty plate; He always had a good appetite. I collect Esme's plate too, but completely skip Edward's.

I set the dirty plates against the counter, and plug the sink. The sound of his socks shuffling against the kitchen floorboards, tells me that he is on his way over. I feel the automatic stiffening of my back muscles, and neck muscles, with his approach. I turn on the hot water tap to drown the sound.

I lean against the counter, while keeping my eyes planted on the water running inside the sink. I can almost feel him behind me, as I watch the clear streaming hot water plunging out of the faucet determinedly.

There is the gentle clatter of his plate and cutlery, as he adds it to the stack of dirty dishes to be washed. And then, I feel it... aware of it more than anything else on the planet, as he closes in on me...

"Bella."

The way it slips from his mouth, is like a low, exasperated whine.

I feel his hands on my waist, and then I stop breathing. I can't seem to remember how to, because my whole body feels all coiled up in anxiety, as he closes the distance between our bodies so that we are pressed together, with me leaning against the sink, him behind me. His fully clothed body brushes up against my back, his groin colliding with my backside through the tight jeans I'm wearing.

He rests his chin on my shoulder and says, so quietly in a deep mumble, I mightn't have heard it otherwise had he not been too close to me, "I acted like an asshole this afternoon, I get it."

"_Asshole_," I murmur tonelessly, "is understatement of the century."

"Look..." The sound is very clear on my ear closest to the shoulder his chin is perched on, as he tongues and licks around his lips. It disturbs me, the sound alone. I shiver, when I suddenly remember- and feel- those hands, which rub over the flat of my stomach through my shirt, and back down again. "What else do you want me to say? I had a shitty day, and so I took it out on you. I apologize whole-heartedly. You didn't deserve that from me, I get it."

"Okay, you're forgiven, I guess," I whisper numbly. I can't seem to feel anything below the neck, when his fingers start plucking and pulling on the bottom of my shirt. "What _are_ you doing?"

I catch his hands in my hands and try to push them away, only he doesn't let me. He uses it to his advantage and clasps my hands in his, tight. I can feel my face scrunching up; the bubbling panic racing through my veins, when I realize I've been caught defenseless.

His breathing is heavy and hot, as it slaps against my skin, when he lifts his chin from my shoulder to plant his mouth above my earlobe instead. His day's worth unshaven chin is rough, like sandpaper to the side of my face. "So, since we've come to a truce... how about we kiss-and-makeup now?"

"Get... away..." I pant quietly, while yanking to release my hands from his grasp. "Let _go_-"

"-Come on, Bella," He pleads hoarsely into my skin raggedly, the tip of his nose mashing into my temple. A suffocated sob hitches in the back of my throat. My stomach clenches. My face twitches. "It's just_ one_ kiss..."

"What the hell is going on, kids?"

At the sound of Charlie's voice as he walks into the kitchen, Edward slides away from me to lean against the counter by my side, and I have my hands all to myself again. I try to compose myself, enough to switch off the tap, now that the sink is half full.

Edward gives out a low laugh from next to me. "I was just teasing Bella, Charlie." You can hear the smile in his voice, as he continues on with his easily flowing lie, "And you should have_ seen_ her face! Has she always been this easy to annoy?" I had to give him some credit; He sure could lie seamlessly, and make anyone believe him.

"She sure has," Charlie laughs in return, opening the refridgerator. He pulls himself out a can of beer. He's smiling along with Edward, all at my expense. "She can be a feisty little one."

"Dad, Ed-" I begin.

"Don't put the blame on me," Edward butts in quickly. The look he darts me, is a searing one that is full of warning. "It's your fault if you can't take a joke, Bella. Clearly, you can't."

"Joke?" I repeat loudly, in hysterics. "If that was you playing a joke on me, then you truly have some _sick_ sense of humour!"

He crosses his arms over his chest defensively, and squints over at me. "Look, obviously you're _too frigid_ to find a joke in any-"

"- Frigid?" I talk over him loudly, "What does that have to do with-"

"- Hey!" Charlie yells over the pair of us. "Both of you, stop fighting!"

"What is _going on_ in here?" Esme storms in, hands on her hips. She looks over at Edward pointedly. "What have you done?" she sighs out in resignation. "Is it so much to ask for you to get along with Bella?"

"Look, I never asked for this," he says tiredly, his arms flapping around. "If you're happy with Charlie, then good for you. I'm happy for you but I... I cannot possibly live with a girl, like her!" He throws a hand over into my direction, agitatedly. "How... how am I meant to see _her_ as my step-sister?"

"Honey, I-" His mother begins, sadly.

"You knew all along, I _told_ you about it before you even agreed to getting serious with him and... now..." He shakes his head, unable to voice his words in the open. "Now... I have to live with this, it's my burden to carry. It's just not fair." Without another word, he grabs his set of car keys and darts out of the kitchen.

The front door slams. The whole kitchen, between the three of us, is dead quiet. When his car is heard exiting the driveway, Esme looks close to tears.

"Hon, don't worry about it," Charlie starts to soothe her, when she cups her face in her hands. "He's still a kid. He'll get over his anger soon." She nods in agreement and sniffles into her hands, before letting him envelope her into a tight hug.

I stare at the pair, not understanding. What is everyone talking about? What did Edward mean with what he was saying?

For a moment, I start to think Esme and Charlie are so wrapped up into hugging, that they've somehow forgotten I'm still there. But as Esme catches sight of me over Charlie's shoulder, her tear-stained cheeks soften.

"Oh honey," she whispers over at me, shakily. "You poor thing. You probably don't understand what is happening!"

"Sssh," Charlie shushes her. "She doesn't need to know. It'll just make things harder for the two kids, and confuse her. She won't even know what to think."

"Charlie, we have to tell her." She breathes into his shoulder weakly. "It isn't fair not to."

"Tell me what?" I speak up, impatiently. "_What is going on_ here?"

Dad and my step-mother separate, before they both turn and level their gazes onto me. All this not knowing, it is driving me mad.

"Honey, I think I know a reason for why Edward acts the way he does around you, why he is so argumentative," she starts gently.

She looks worried, like any second now, I'll do an Edward and run out the front door.

"He has never known how to control himself, how to act in regards to his feelings, but.." She takes in a steady breath. "He admitted to me before your father and I seriously started dating, that he had something of a little... thing for you. We thought he had gotten over it, with some time..."

"_Thing_?" I breathe out, shallowly.

"You see, now that your father and I are married, I think... he just doesn't know how to act around you. He didn't think our relationship would turn into something that serious."

She continues uncertainly, "I think that's why he is so angry. He saw you as this pretty girl who he had a tiny thing for but... after we got married, I don't think he really knew how to take it. I think he is trying to see you as a sister, rather than anything in a romantic light, and maybe it has been just a bit hard on him to cope with. It's a struggle for him, a big change from when he was... gushing to me in the car about how great you were, when you two first met years ago. It's nothing personal, sweetie, I'm sure."

"What?" I feel my stomach churn and knot in unease. _Edward likes me, more than a friend of sorts, and they knew all along?_ _And how gross he was always being around me, how...improper in the ways he looked at me, in the ways he spoke to me. Were they in on that, too?_


	6. Strange Feelings

**As before, I own nothing to do with Twilight, just the plotline to this weird story lol.**

**I want to thank you all so so much for your alerts and reviews on this story. It is so encouraging and honestly, some reviews gave me the giggles! Loved reading them from you all so much! So sorry about this disappointing chapter that I've managed to finally squeeze out in between working!**

** I'm quite nervous about this one as... I've never really been game enough to do an EPOV. If it's truly bad, feel free to let me know. This picks off where the last chapter took off, a few hours later after the peculiar argument broke out between the family. **

**Hope you enjoy! :-) I'm so sorry if it's really bad. As for now, I'll go retreat far away. Please be gentle...**

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><p><em>Chapter Six<em>

He comes stumbling up the winding staircase just after three a.m in the morning. His movements are so loud, it brings me out of my sleep. Dopily, I tear the bedsheets off of myself, and climb to my feet, I crank open my door slowly, and peer out.

I can tell he's been out drinking, that there's where he went off to after the heated argument broke out into the kitchen, because he murmurs to himself softly- about being quiet- and laughs.

And then, it all comes crashing down onto me, that just maybe he isn't as drunk as he appears;

I spot the woman as they crash into the hallway together. She has her arms around his shoulders, and a low, flustered giggle emits from her mouth when her back hits the wall behind her. His bedroom light clicks on, illuminating the hallway dimly, and its then that I have the full chance to see her somewhat.

She has long peroxide blond hair dangling below her shoulders, and she is very tall in the high heels she is wearing. She is wearing a low-cut yellow dress, and her legs are very pale and slender. She's beautiful and, in some sense, I feel I want to be her, for some reason.

The way he lifts all of her hair away from the side of her neck with his hands... the way he leans down to start kissing her neck so intimately, takes my breath away.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," he grunts breathlessly. My pulse rate picks up a notch over the grating tone of his voice, something I'd never experienced before in regards to it. His kisses are open-mouthed and sloppy sounding on her neck. "Tell me you want me to fuck you _right now_..."

She gives out a shaky whimper and, I guess then, that it means his words and actions are making the offer very attractive to her.

"Yes," she moans out unevenly. One of her hands fall out to snatch at his shirt. "Yes, Edward. I want you to, god!"

"Show me," he goads on, relentlessly. The second it tears out of his mouth, a heated groan, she does.

Oh, she shows him, all right. Her hands latch onto the belt buckle of his jeans.

I know the responsible thing to do, is to turn around and head back inside my room. Pretend I hadn't even witnessed such a personal thing even.

Only... my eyes won't seem to let me to. Something about witnessing the whole sight excites me.

"Oh yes, god, _Bella_-"

Suddenly, everything stops. Everything comes to a screeching halt. Even my breathing turns shallow, as the color drains from my face in relation to it.

Only sound to be heard is the woman's ragged breathing in the hallway. She's staring up at him- in shock? Hurt? Who knows, her face is a shadowed blur that I can't make out which it is.

"_Bella_?" Her voice is full of hurt, betrayal. "My name isn't Bella! It's _Tanya_!"

And then, they are fighting...

She gathers her clothes off the floor. "Oh, god. Were you _thinking_ of _another girl_ while trying to get me to fuck you?"

"Look, I-" She goes to leave, but he grabs her by the arm and yanks her back. She stumbles a bit in her heels, he has to steady her by the forearms. "Look, I didn't mean to call you that, honestly!"

She tears her arms from his grip and steps back in her heels to throw a hand up at him. "Look, _obviously_ you were thinking about another girl while_ trying_ to fuck me!" She's near to tears, irreparably angry. "And that is just seriously fucked up Edward!"

"I know..." His voice is gentle, a desperate murmur. "I'm_ so_ sorry."

"Bullshit," she cries, throwing her coat on. "Look, I'll see you around Edward!" She rounds the stairs in her heels, and climbs down them, hands clinging onto the hand rails for dear life in case she trips.

I watch as he stares down at her leaving, helpless and full of regret. And then, I manage to find myself back into my room before he sees I've noticed the whole thing. I'm trembling in my thin pajamas as I fall back into bed, while I struggle to understand what just happened. Edward usually never brought a girl home for the night, and yet, he called out my name?

_My_ name...

_Bella._

Only that isn't what shell-shocks me the most. It's how I felt, while watching in on him being so intimate with her, so physical.

Usually, everything about him made me repulsed. The things he said to me, the way he spoke about girls so sexually, like there was no more to them than 'Ass' and 'Boobs...' But this feeling was not repulsion in the slightest. Well, maybe a mixture of both repulsion and something else, something... unfamiliar in the pit of my stomach.

I didn't like the way he was kissing her, the way he was being so intimate with her. It made me feel... odd inside. Like, why should _she_ get special treatment from him?

It occured to me then, these foreign feelings I were feeling inside over it, just might have been spiking stabs of jealousy. I couldn't understand it. Where did these confusing feelings come from all of a sudden?

**_EPOV:_**

I fucked up. I've officially fucked up.

"Look, I'll see you around Edward!" Tanya says, climbing her way down the stairs. I know I've hurt her. I've already made her start to cry because of my stupid slip-up, and yet... I can't bring myself to care.

There were no feelings involved for her, of course. I had only tried to fill some bleak void inside, angry and frustrated over the happenings of the evening after dinner. And yet, every time I kissed Tanya, tried to take her clothes off, felt her touching me in return... it was _her_ in my head. _Her,_ aged seventeen with her small ringed fingers and plump lips on my own, her with her long flowing dark hair I was touching in my hands, moving out of the way to get access to her neck.

She rips open the front door and leaves, stepping out into the pitchblack darkness. I hear a door snap quietly shut in the hallway.

I turn and look, and I know it's _her_...

I know she is awake, I know her lamps on in her room, because there's a faint glow of light underneath the crack of her door. It occurs to me then, that she probably heard everything. Heard me trying to get with Tanya, a girl I barely even knew. Hell, she even probably heard me calling out her name in the midst of it all, while trying to take Tanya's clothes off.

For a moment, I feel sick. Both sickened with what I've done... of how she must see me now, and physically sick inside.

My stomach feels like a washing machine churning and churning at high speeds. The saliva on the bed of my tongue tastes bitter in my mouth.

Fuck, not only did she see me trying to make out and fuck this girl, but she heard me. Oh, she definitely heard me.

It seemed a good idea, at the time. I found her through the crowd while I was at the bar ordering myself a light beer. She was alone, all by herself seated on a couch.

It seemed to me she needed company as well, so I introduced myself to her, and we got to talking. It seemed harmless enough.

And then, I got the somehow stupid idea into my head to invite her back to my house, and she was all too willing.

_If I couldn't get sex or any_ _form of pleasurable satisfaction from her... then why not try it on other girls, like Tanya?_

It's been months, years even, since I've had a girl. If I couldn't have her, if she could never see me as anything more than her step-brother... then I might as well find someone else, who would let me have them.

_God, why am I such a fuck-up?_

I sigh and head into my room, shutting the door gently from behind me. I slide my arms out of my jacket, fling the material onto the bed.

All the while, I catch myself wondering...

_Does she even care that I said her name whilst in the midst of trying to take my mind off her by fucking this girl?_

She must know the high regards I held her in now because, realistically though she were younger, she was most certainly intelligent enough...

_"Edward, there is someone I want you to meet," Esme, my mother, called from in the kitchen, her voice high-pitched in nerves._

_"What?" I abandoned heading up into the direction of my room to change and, instead, loosened my tie 'round my neck. I rounded the corner of the hallway into the kitchen, expecting mom to be alone. _

_She wasn't._

_In fact, she had two other people with her. You could just tell they were father and daughter by first glance. They had the exact same eyes._

_I eyed the father first. He was fiddling with the badge on the breast pocket of his uniform underneath my scrutiny. He was a cop for the Washington police, his dark grey uniform and shining metal badge told me as much._

_"Edward," Ma spoke up excitedly, "This is Charles and his daughter, Isabella. Charlie, Bella, my only son Edward."_

_The cop- Charles- stepped forward and extended a hand. "How you do, son?_

_"Good thank you, Charlie," I said, good-naturedly. I took his hand and shook it. "And yourself?"_

_"Ah, I'm just fine," he smiled. I think he was caught off-guard by my friendliness, but I was only doing it so that mom wouldn't be angry with me later._

_The moment I saw her standing around behind him... I think something changed inside of me indefinitely._

_Now I'd seen and appreciated a few good-looking girls in my time, but she was top of them all. I could remember the day I first met her like it happened just yesterday. She couldn't have been no less than fourteen back then, all ungainly elbows and knees and so so unsure of herself, but still, the most beautiful thing in the world to me. She was wearing a David Bowie T-shirt, and a long frilly black skirt, with stark-white trainers that day. I could remember staring at her slender white legs while she walked in front of me, when mom told me to show her around the house._

_"So, is it just you and your mom that live here?" she had asked interestedly, when we stepped up the stairs so I could show her the second floor of the house. Sure, it was inappropriate of me, but I stole a look or two at her bottom and the back of her calves while I had the chance._

_Infuriatingly, there hadn't been much of her to see that day. But, naturally I knew there would be more chances to come._

_"Yeah, just me and my mom."_

_Her dark eyes were too big for her head, as I led the way and took her in to see my room. She looked over my bed, my collection of CD's, and was immensely interested in my book collection._

_"Whoa," she gasped out in surprise, as she strolled straight on over and started inspecting each shelf unapologetically. I watched her hands as they went behind her back, ringed fingers pulling on the back of her skirt absentmindedly. At the mere self-conscious gesture she made alone, it made the lower part of my body very excited. My trousers had certainly felt tighter, then. A slender finger ran over my dusty copy of John Steinbeck's East of Eden. It would seem she was most familiar with his work, and it left me in a new state of awe of this young girl, who I would later have to view as no more than a younger step-sibling, simultanuously pushing aside all feelings I had for her, which was, obviously, no easy feat. "Do all of these books belong to you?"_

_"Sure do." I moved to stand next to her, rubbed my hand along the bottom shelf. It was a bit dusty that day. I was pretty impressed by my extensive collection myself, if I do say so. "All these are mine. Well, except from a few old ones that were passed down from my dad. I like reading, alot."_

_She met my eyes then, and a sardonic smile creeped on her lips. "Well, of course you like reading," she had tried to joke, but her voice came off as a little shy. It was incredibly endearing. "I mean, look at all these books!" She huffed out in wonderment, "God, I''d kill somebody to have all these!"_

_"Oh, no," I had teased her, getting real close up to her. I wanted to put my hand on her back- I had even lifted my hand to do so- but then decided against it and grasped thin air instead. I didn't want to scare her off so suddenly. "You're not gonna kill me, are you?"_

_She had giggled quietly at that, then looked away. It was then her cheeks had reddened, like a drop of blood into a bowl of milk. That blush alone, made me a complete goner. _

I'd thought about that day quite a lot. Mostly, I'd think about different scenerios of that day, maybe where things evolved quickly and I'd have her all to myself.

Things would lead from one thing to another; From talking about my book collection, to her collapsing on my bed, revealing to me she shares the same feelings as I do for her.

Admittedly, I was quite embarrassed of these little day dreams I had about her, because they would come up often and at the most inappropriate of times. They were just exactly that; mindless, little daydreams of no consequential importance. They were more benign and foolish, than of any sexual nature, of Bella and I talking, holding intelligent conversation of literature.

Sometimes, the daydreams were not entirely pleasant, because I got to thinking, what would happen if her father and my mother were somehow out of the equation?

What would happen if, by some miraculous disaster, they disappeared from our lives, from our control, as I knew they downright forbidded me trying anything funny on her? Would I truly have her all to myself, then? Would she fall into my arms, let me in to her heart, love me as I find myself with her?

There was just something about her that day. Something more eye-catching than the norm. I wanted to know everything I possibly could about her, only she did not make it easy; She had her guard up around me, always. Maybe it was because of my somewhat peculiar behaviour around her?

And... every moment passing, I found myself more and more thrilled by her. Especially after tonight, especially when she fought against kissing me the way she did, her unconcealed indifference to me. Especially when she would continuously fight me off.

It only drove me harder, and I knew there would be a point when soon... _soon_, she would crack.


	7. An Accident

**As always, Twilight belongs to S,M.**

**Thank you all so so much for your reviews, alerts and favourites. It means so much to me, truly.**

**I hope you will like this chapter? If not, I'm so sorry :( But this is where I intend to take the story. I'm so nervous to post it, as always. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.  
>Much love, hope you like. x<strong>

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><p><em>Chapter Seven<em>

**EPOV:**

"Edward Cullen? He in trouble or something?" I hear my work colleague, James Newton ask, sounding all types of bewildered and curious.

I peer over at him from my place near the photocopier while he sits there, slumped and puny in his office cubical. I swallow thickly.

His gaze holds my own through the shiny disks of his dorky round-rimmed glasses. "Yeah, he is right over there." He jabs a bony index finger in my direction, and I gather the cause of his nerves at once.

There is an elderly officer of the Forks County Police Department with him.

Immediately, he turns and regards me. A flat hand to his stomach smooths down any visible wrinkles on his tight, ill-fitting uniform, as his tufted graying eyebrows narrow at me. I swallow hard, as he starts to approach me in brisk, urgent strides. Doom is impending, I know it. He'll handcuff me, lock me away from her. Still, I force myself not to look away.

Can't give off some misguided impression that I'm actually guilty of something now, could I?

_Jesus, did Charlie put him up to this? My mother, even? What have I possibly done now? I never laid hands on her, no matter how much I wanted to. Well, last night I did try to steal a kiss from her near the kitchen sink. Oh, and I do have thoughts about her that might even be enough to put me in jail for pedophilia somehow, kind of. But I never- _

"Edward Cullen?"

I leave the stack of paper copies my boss requested from me, and stare at him. "Yes, this is he. How may I help you?"

"Uh, can we have a word? Preferably somewhere a little quiet?" That throws me off a bit, I wasn't gonna lie. It worries me a bit, especially the miserable fucking expression he has planted on his face.

"Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

"Please," he sighs out, and rubs a finger over his eyes. "Let's head into one of the private offices."

"Ok, sure." I guide the way over to one of the vacant square offices and hold the door open for him. Once he manages to slip inside, I close the door behind me. Newton- _goddamn_ him- is still watching eagerly at his cubical, even through the pane of glass seperating the officer and I from earshot. _Nosy, nerdy bastard._

The officer stares at me for a moment silently, expression tight and stern, before seating himself down onto the rectangular table in the middle of the bare room. The room is somewhat morbidly clinical, a room I often inhabited when called in for business meetings.

He taps at the table with a hand, "Please, sit."

My mind races, as I do what he says. _Oh, god. This isn't good._ What has Charlie been feeding him? Sure, it was probably obvious how intense I was about his daughter, but I never tried anything funny on her. I didn't rape her, I wasn't molesting her. _God, I couldn't even stomach thinking it. So why the visit?_

I take a seat, while maintaining eyecontact with the officer. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it all out, very slowly. Fuck, the anticipation is killing me. "I'm afraid there has been an accident. Family members were involved."

_Family members? Accident?_ As my mind processes in his words, I can only seem to think one thing in my head. A prayer, a panicked chant of whizzing words:

_Please Bella be all right. Please Bella be all right. Please Bella not be dead_.

"What kind of accident? Which family members? It's not Isab...?" I can't even find it within me to dare think it, let alone utter it out loud. This can't be about her. It just can't.

I stare him down, urging him to continue. I hold in my breath, waiting for the agonizing blow.

"I'm afraid, there was a fatal car accident at roughly twelve fifteen this morning. Your parents were involved."

Mom? My step-father? _Dead?_

In some perverse sense, it feels a weight has been lifted off my shoulders with the realization alone. A momentary inwards sigh of relief that all is well in the glorious land of my step-sister, Bella. But then, a moment later, that relief is rather instead turned into swirling pits of shock. _Fuck, they're dead._

"I'm sorry. Their car collided with an ongoing truck, and the instance they crashed, they passed. There was not a single thing we could do. The ambulance was called, only they were declared dead on arrival. The wreckage of the car was very severe. Like I said, I'm so sorry for your loss."

The color drains from my face. A hand closes over my mouth to stifle whatever it is building up in my throat. A cry, scream? Fuck if I know.

"What about Bella?" How was I meant to tell her? How could I possibly deal with watching her mourn over their deaths? How could I possibly endure all the pain and tears the knowledge will inflict on her, once I tell her?

"What?" The officer grunts out uncertainly. I lift my eyes over at him. His face is scrunched in confusion. He clearly doesn't know who I'm talking about. Oh, the sad irony of it all.

"My... my _step-sister_, Bella? Has she been told?"

"Ah, no." He gives me a stiff, apologetic smile. "We haven't been able to reach her unfortunately. However, if you would prefer, we could inform her ourselves."

"No," I tell him firmly. "I'll tell her. I'll pick her up from school. It's better this way."

"Well, all right then." His chair scrapes against the hardwood floor as he gets up from his seat. As he goes to leave, he turns and clasps me on the shoulder with a firm, sympathetic embrace. "I hope you won't mind popping down into the station to identify your loved ones, then."

"Yeah, sure. Let me just go tell my boss I'm leaving." And so, I do.

* * *

><p><em>Our parents are dead. They perished in a car crash with a truck this morning, sorry. <em>

No, that doesn't sound right. It's too cold sounding, too clinical.

_Bella, I'm so sorry. Our parents... they're dead._

No, maybe a slow burn is what she needs? Take it slowly, as not to make her so hysterical.

_Bella, there is something I need to talk to you about. It's regarding our parents._

Fuck. I slap myself against the forehead, and throw my head back against the headrest of my seat. How the hell are you meant to tell a seventeen year-old girl that her parent's died only just this morning, and that you'll be caring for her from now on? That you'll take over all parental duties, because that's the way it's got to be? Because I sure as hell had no fucking idea whatsoever. _Nada, nothing._

After identifying the bodies for the coroner, I had it all somehow planned mechanically into my head. I'd act the way I ought to, offer Bella all the assistance I possibly can while she grieved. And yet, I had no idea how to tell her. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand to think how agonizingly upset this would make her once I told her the bad news.

Even sitting outside in the parking lot at her school, as the hours droned on, I didn't know how I could possibly manage it.

There was undoubtedly no questioning on whether it was them dead or not. It definitely was our parent's...

"_Are you ready to see them, son?" The elderly coroner in his white coat asks quietly, gauging my reaction. Maybe he saw the look there, in my face, my eyes, that gives him the silent confirmation to go ahead and do it, get it over with, because, without further ado, he does._

_With a delicate crack of his wrist, he unsheathes the bodies lying on the table from their white cloth and... there they are._

_My beautiful mother, a horrid ghastly reproduction of her former self. My step-father. Bella's father, who you could tell she loved more than anything else in the waking world._

_The collision was a rough and severe one, you could tell as much. My mother's once inviting face is merely a memory of how she once was, in comparision to her face now. She hardly looks like the same woman; Her hair dark and stringy, matted in blood, her chin mashed to a pulp, like a squashed fruit. Charlie looks no less unrecognizable than she does. And to think, these were the two same happy loving people, who Bella and I had breakfast at the table with in the morning, before I left for work, Bella for school..._

_Oh god. Dead._

_A hand flies over to cover my mouth, as the vomit rises in my throat. The dawning awareness that this is reality- that our parent's are indeed dead- hits hard. My heart feels it is being crushed by a set of metal tweezers. But then, hey? At least, it's them, rather than her. _The thought revives and calms me in some way.

_Oh, no. Losing her prematurely...I think I might just go mad._

At three, the bells rings out and eventually the students come cascading out of the tan brick building of Forks High. They all chatter loudly amongst themselves as they pass my car, all wrapped up into their own perfect little complete worlds, while I was about to destroy her own.

The instance I spot her through the crowd, in mid-chatter animatedly with a short-haired friend, I feel like coiling over and vomiting again, like I had after identifying the bodies of our parent's. She is smiling widely at whatever her friend is telling her, and she throws her head back and laughs, her dark and shiny hair rippling across her shoulders in the light afternoon breeze.

Seeing her so happy, was reason alone to make me hate myself for what I was about to do to her. I was going to crush her spirits, make her so inconsolable she probably wouldn't ever be able to laugh or smile ever again. And that was such a pity, because I adored those smiles and melt-worthy laughs, even if it was over something I wasn't doing.

I wind down my window and stick my hand out, waving her over with a flourish of the wrist.

I can tell she's not happy to see me, to say the least. Her back immediately stiffens and her small hands tighten over the narrow straps of her pink backpack, as her jaw clenches. She stills in excited conversation with her friend, and glares ahead at me.

In another situation otherwise- less as dire, as this one- I would have simply laughed and found it hilarious, how unhappy she was to see that I was picking her up from school. I relished those moments she showed her blunt hatred in me; Instead of wounding me, it only ever seemed to amuse me, and present me some form of enjoyment, and enamour in her.

Only, I couldn't laugh. Nothing really felt all that remotely funny to me anymore.

Her friend follows her over to my side of the car. Her narrowed dark brown eyes fixate on me, as she peers down at me through the scrolled down tinted window.

"What are you doing here? Where's _Charlie_? Why couldn't _he_ pick me up instead of _you_?"

My heart clenches at the disdain in her voice. _Oh, how she loathes me so much, how she finds me downright disgusting_... I don't care, though. I never did. I've come to accept her blind hatred and find it somehow an endearing way about her.

"Please just get inside the car." After a day like today, I'm too exhausted to even start arguing with her. "Something happened. I need to talk to you about it."

I can tell she is startled by the somewhat strained desperation in my voice. Her mouth pops open a bit, showing off her glistening front teeth. She recovers a second later and turns on me, hugging her friend. "Alice, I'll call you later tonight, okay?" She says softly, rubbing her friend on the back with those tiny ringed fingers.

"Okay, looking forward to it!"

"Bye," she waves, carefreely.

I watch her warily through the windshield, as she crosses over the front of my car to get into the passenger's side next to me. Quickly- in a moment of vanity- I wipe my wet eyes and run my palms over the back of my hair, smoothing it down briskly.

All is silent, once she slides in and buckles herself up.

When I crane my neck behind me, checking to see the coast is clear of all students, I shift the car into reverse, and _away we go_...

I can feel her eyes on me, while I indicate left out of the parking lot. To me, she was always an incredibly intelligent and perceptive young girl, if yet naive and so fresh. She was bound to be so devastated.

"Well," she starts, a tart edge to her quiet voice. "What is it?"

For a moment, I think about lying to her; No fatal car accidents, no deaths. Only, it was a weak and selfish way out of telling her. To be fair, she didn't deserve all that. No matter how much I knew inside it'll kill me to see her so depressed and upset, knee-deep in grief over the loss of her father.

Okay, here goes._ Take a deep breath in for courage, Cullen._ "Our parent's were involved in a car accident this morning. A while back, I was called into the coroner's to identify their bodies. It _is_ them."

Her breathing accelerates at my quick and urgent words, until it is the only thing left hanging onto in this world. I turn to shoot a look over at her to find she is already staring at me. I didn't like the look she was giving me, quite frankly. Her eyes, they looked...empty and depthless. Her expression is bleak and drained. Shiny tears gather in her eyes, and her freckle-scattered nose starts to run. Her chin wobbles.

One of my hands are frantic and at work, patting down pockets, and feeling around. My heart aches for her.

_Goddamn it. Where is a fucking handkerchief when you need one? _

And then... shattering my world_ completely_, it starts.

The hysterical sobbing. The tears.

She slumps forward in her seat, her dark long hair spreading over to cover her face. In a rush of irritation, I consider leaning over the console and brushing her hair back, so I can see and keep track of every little part of that face of hers, only it seems somehow inappropriate. Too soon, to make my feelings and intentions for her clear.

Rather instead, I tighten my hold on the steering wheel and press myself to keep on driving.

"I'm _so_ sorry."

She buries her face into her lap, and sniffles loudly. "No," she cries weakly, cradling her face in her small feminine girly hands. "They can't be. You _have_ to be lying!"

I wish I was lying but _unfortunately,_ I wasn't. And there was nothing I could do about, no control. No ability to somehow reverse time...

"I wish, but I'm not." I'm panting hard. "I wish I could have the power to go back in time to prevent their death... but I just _can't_."

She throws me a critical, hard stare; dark hair awry, teeth resting on her quivering, tear-wet underlip. "Now what happens?" Her nose is red raw from her bawling. Clear tears trickle down the lining of her pale blotchy cheekbones and, _god, she is still so beautiful to me, so young_. "What happens to_ us_?"

It takes me a moment to wonder that myself. _What _does_ happen now, without our parents around home anymore?_

Ironically enough, this is what I have been hoping for the whole time, ever since she moved in with her father. A chance to get her alone, to have her all to myself without any morsel of parental control.

In the back of my mind, I was always day-dreaming about one spectacular event that would throw her into my loving, and pining arms forever. Of course, realistically I didn't want it this way where... both our parent's were dead as an outcome.

But, I'd be full of shit if I was to say, I wasn't going to take advantage of the fact our parent's wouldn't be around anymore.

Plus, the notion of just the two of us sharing the one family house together- No parent's interferring whatsoever, every single other person on earth eliminated except for me and_ her, her all to myself, day after day_...

Convenient. How convenient.

_I could definitely, definitely see this working out._

Bella- seventeen years-old, wildly beautiful to me, stuck in such a fragile, emotional state. She was bound to nurse some carnal longings for comfort and an empathetic ear, sooner or later. And, foremost, I would be first in line.

I turn to look at her. I try not to give away a single hint of the smile that is dying to just stretch over the whole of my face, and stay there permanently for the rest of the blissful lifetime I'll spend with her, alone and without parental vision. Free to do anything, say anything... without harsh judgment over the fact she is underage, and quite green.

"Well, I suppose, since you're still underage until September, I'll have to be your parent somehow. A _guardian_, of some sort. We'll work out living arrangements and conditions later."


	8. Resentment

_**Hey guys, just want to say again, thank you all so much for your alerts, reviews, and interest in my story. It means so much to me, it truly does. :) Hope this chapter is all right... things might get a little crazy after this. Hope you're still interested, and I'm really sorry if this chapter is written poorly! I've got the flu and a massive headache, so it was a bit hard to write today!**_

_**Thanks for reading, and hopefully see you all next update x**_

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><p><em>Chapter Eight<em>

_**EPOV:**_

Now, I'm not much of a religious person.

I've never attended mass, aside from those several instances as a young boy. But I believed; God had a gloriously wonderful plan for Isabella and I. He planned on taking our parent's lives, in order for us to somehow end together, like two balloon strings knotting, forever intertwined.

God had plans for us, I was sure of it. He wanted us linked in many ways. Romantically, intimately, sexually... He wanted us to coexist, together. He knew that it's a natural order, that two people who are thrown together in the same house, two people who enter into a cohabitation, inevitably lead into some type of... _meaningful relationship_.

And, for that, I would be eternally grateful.

Only, she didn't see it that way. She couldn't. I know she wouldn't ever dare to see it that way. But I did.

And, from this day forth, I vowed to hold God in a special place in my heart, as well as her. _Second place,_ to her, of course.

Because she had my heart, first and foremost. And, from that first day I laid eyes on her when she was around fourteen, I knew it would never change.

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><p><em><strong>BPOV:<strong>_

Sleep. All I seem to want to do now, is sleep. Sleep and _cry_.

I don't remember how I got here but, somehow, I find myself in a bed. It's dark, and relievingly quiet. Aside from snoring; Someone is snoring very loudly in my ear. Someone is next to me in the bed, deep and foggy, in sleep. A very warm arm is draped over me, nestling into the crook of my neck.

_Who the hell is sleeping in the bed near me?_ I wonder, a little shocked. _And, how did I even get in bed?_

I can't remember a single thing of what happened earlier. But, I am underneath a warm, heavy set of blankets, still in my school clothes I'm faintly positive of, and someone is here with me.

I let my eyes flutter open slowly, taking in my surroundings. It's very dark, and I can hardly make out a single thing. Shadows. Everything is dark bleak shadows. Even in the darkness of the room, it feels somehow unfamiliar to me.

It's a room I haven't been in before, maybe once or twice.

_Edward's room. Why am I in here, rather instead of my own room, though?_

Fractured memories of this horrible afternoon start to flash by in my head, relentlessly, wounding me.

The uneasy realization Edward was waiting for me in his car outside school- _the look in his teary eyes, the sheer agony and strained panic. _Edward telling me quietly that there was a car accident in the morning and... our parents-_ Oh, God. Charlie and Esme! Dead. Dead! _And then, me breaking down and sobbing in the car uncontrollably, while he looked on, helpless and unsure of what he was supposed to do about it. I cringe, and pant wildly. _I let myself cry in front of him! I let myself become vulnerable in front of him! How... embarrassing._

I breathe very slowly and cautiously, as everything automatically sets in. I'm in his double bed, he is near me, and it's _his_ arm that is wrapped around my neck, warming me slightly from the airy chill of his spacious room.

I don't know whether to cry, or scream, or be sick. _Gross. I'm in bed with him!_

_I'm in bed with my older step-brother, whom I feel I hate beyond reason._

His head, heavy and solid, is resting on my stomach. His harsh snores vibrate into my skin.

Trying not to move too much, as not to wake him so suddenly, I stretch out and start feeling around, trying to find a lamp or something close to it, for a source of light. My fingers close over hard cool wood. It's his bedside table. I claw around, until I feel a lamp on it, and fumble around.

It clicks on, bathing the room in a light, dim yellowed glow.

He stirs sleepily, rumbles incoreherent words into my belly- my name mingled along with others- and drapes his other arm along his forehead to cover over his eyes from the light. He looks serene and boyish and, oddly enough, like he has no worries in the world, which was strange, considering our parents just died. I would have expected him to look and act a little more... disturbed and restless, somehow.

A bit more like how I felt, anyway.

Uneasiness settles deep within, as I blink down at him groggily.

His mouth is half open and his face is turned upwards into my school shirt, as he breathes, exhaling and inhaling in long streams of hot air. There is a circled patch of dampness- dark, sticky moisture- on the bottom of my shirt, because he is drooling.

_Holy crap._ Tears roll down my cheeks. _He is drooling on me. Weird._

This is so strange. Such a strange situation to be stuck in. I have to be dreaming, surely.

"What... what's the light from?" he mumbles underneath his breath, confused. He buries the side of his warm face deeper into my shirt, right below where my chest is, the short, wiry hairs on his scalp tickling me.

The bubblings of sheer panic rise in my throat. Unable to help it, I let out a squeal, long and hard.

And then, he is awake...

He sits up at once, hovering over me on his knees, frightened and wary. His eyes run down my face, and then back up again. He is breathing heavily, as he stares intently into my eyes through thick, dark eyelashes.

"What?" he pants out, worried. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep. "What is it? What's wrong?" One of his hands rise to touch my hair, fingers spread eagerly. I flinch out of his touch, and recoil away.

"Get away from me!" I scream, huddling up against the bedpost behind me, tucking my knees in. "_Why_ are you in the same bed as me?"

"I-I thought you might want some company," he says, his voice so small and unsure and contrite. "I thought you would have prefered not being alone after what happened today. You were crying _so_ much, I...I just wanted to comfort you!"

My head swims. _I cannot believe him_! "Why am I in your room, in _your_ bed, rather than in my own?"

"You don't remember?" He asks, eyeing me skeptically.

"Remember, what?" My voice is unintentionally accusing.

He runs a set of long trembling fingers through his unkempt bed-hair, and sighs heavily. "You were crying so much in the car after I told you what happened, I was worried to let you sleep in your room alone." He smiles weakly, ruefully. "I didn't want you doing something you might end up regretting later, like hurting yourself. I thought that maybe, it just might have made you feel better, console you somehow, if you slept with me, rather than alone, all by yourself."

"Did you put me in your bed?" I shudder at the thought.

"Yes, I did." He is watching me carefully. "I carried you out of the car and brought you up here. You fell asleep straight away."

"What makes you think that I'd actually want to sleep in the same bed as you, whether I'm crying and in need of comfort, or otherwise?" I whisper harshly, horrified.

"I... I was just trying to be nice." He shrugs.

I slide my legs off his bed, and hop onto the balls of my feet. "Well, _don't bother_," I mutter back quietly underneath my breath, before escaping out of his room.

My bare feet slap down the hallway, until I find myself in the safe confines of my own room.

I let out a breathy sigh of relief, and turn to shut the door securely behind me.

Just because our parent's are dead, it wouldn't change anything.

_I still would never, ever, be sleeping in the same bed as him. Because, ultimately, what if it made him believe he was allowed to do other things to me- highly inappropriate things, like touching? Things I definitely were not ready for, even at seventeen?_

And while, I knew it was quite bitchy and adolescent of me to react that way, when clearly it was only his way of comforting me, and reaching out to me, somehow, it still felt wrong to me. Uncomfortable.

* * *

><p>Next morning, there is a slow knock on my door, a quiet and hesitant rap of knuckles. Then, it creaks half-way open. He pokes his head in, and I meet his unsure gaze probingly, uncurling myself from my blankets and sitting up from the fetal position I'd put myself in, stretching out my toes.<p>

"What?" I snap loudly at him, unable to help it.

"Are you ready for me to take you to school?" His tone is low and, surprisingly... nervous.

My eyes close at their own accord. I inhale sharply through my nostils and I feel, then: _God, I hate him so much. Is he that blind and devoid of any compassionate human feelings? Can't he see how much this is hurting me? How can he possibly expect me to be able to focus on school work, while I'm like this?_

I can't even get through an hour, let alone a full day, without breaking down and sobbing, I'm sure of it.

And, what about him?

I hadn't even seen him shed a single tear over what happened to our parent's, except for the sole and brief time in the car, how wet and tragic his eyes looked, how pale as a sheet in shock his face looked, when he told me the unpleasant news. _Did their deaths affect him at all? Was he just as shaken up as I was, with it? Or did he just hide it well, keep his emotions bottled up deep inside, more expertly than I could?_

Is it wrong of me to feel some sort of resentment over our parent's deaths?

Is it wrong of me to despise them in some weird way, over the odd and uneasy predicament I found myself in?

Is it terrible of me to feel some type of anger over them, because they've left me hopelessly stuck under the control and guidance of this strange person, who is supposed to be like a step-brother to me?

All alone... in a two-story house, with _him_.

_He_, who gives me odd lingering stares, and says some of the most creepiest remarks known to mankind.

It's not fair. But then, I suppose, what _is_ fair in the chaos of life?

I let my head fall back down into my pillows, and turn on my side. "I'm not ready to go back to school, yet. Especially not when I'm like this," I tell him sourly.

He pushes my door open, and allows himself full entrance, without permission. He is already wearing his work clothes; A size-too-big men's navy blazer, with a white cotton shirt underneath. No tie this time, but the collar loosely undone.

His shaky hands are at steady work, sliding a leather belt through the loops of his ironed grey work trousers.

"Bella, you can't avoid school forever. You have to go, sooner or later, or else you'll miss out on too much."

I stare down at his polished loafers, my mouth pinching together. I'd much rather look at his shoes, than his impassive, clean-shaven face any day of the week. "You're _not_ my father," I retort, acidly. "You're _not_ a parent! I can choose whatever I want to do and, _today_, I'm not attending school."

His arms cross over his chest. He's scowling. "Bella, what I say, goes. _I'm_ the adult here, and I'm telling you, that you have to go to school."

"Like I said, you're _not_ the boss of me!"

He glares at me, eyes lit in anger. Intimidating, somehow. "And, do you think Charlie would be happy that his daughter is missing a day of school?"

My eyes flash and burn with tears at the mention of my father. That was a low blow, and he had to know it. It stung. "Don't you dare talk about my father like you knew him," I hiss. "He was _my_ father, not yours. You only knew him, because he married your mother! And besides, if I go to school, _everyone_ will make fun of me for crying! I _can't_ seem to stop!"

He cocks his head to the side and breathes out sharply, his lips puckering together in a firm, angry line. "Fine," he sighs out, resignedly. "You can stay home, _just this once_, but tomorrow, school is where you will be going! No matter how upset you are, you _have to_ go to school! You can't be missing a day's worth of it, even if your family circumstances at home are sad!"

I make a rude noise of protest.

"Look, I'm just as upset as you are, and yet, you don't see _me_ taking a day off work to cry over it!"

_Oh, that's it. I've had enough!_ I cover my hands over my ears, trying futilely to block out his loud murmurings. I make another rude noise, blowing out a raspberry._ I hate him, I really, really hate him! _I can tell it sets him off in a whole new way, because he comes at me, fast and grim.

He reaches over and runs his thumb across my lower lip, separating my lips apart roughly. His thumb goes into my mouth, over my tongue, and then, I am gagging.

"Stop making noises!" he yells down at me, his face inches from mine, so loud even my covered ears cannot conceal it.

He removes his thumb from my mouth, _finally_, and a long clear string of my saliva breaks, attached to his thumb. He wipes it on the untucked collar of his white shirt, panting loudly.

I blink up at him, scared and wide-eyed wary._ What the hell does he think he is doing? What gives him right to touch me like this?_

Exactly like I had last night over the dawning realization he were next to me in bed, I let loose a scream.

This time, he's the one to leave, and quickly. Without throwing me a single unpleasant look back, he storms out of my room, and yanks my door shut loudly from behind.

Never have I felt so alone in such a cold world before.


	9. Uneasy Revealation

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* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Nine<em>**

My cooking was a poor substitute for Esme's, and I'd be completely dumb and ignorant not to know it.

But, I _hoped_... Edward would maybe like it, if I made him dinner as a way of apologizing, and appreciate the gesture regardless, if I did. Especially with how childish I had been this morning, as well as last night, when waking to find I was in his room.

I hoped we could move past everything that had happened, and that we could somehow have a normal step-brother and sister relationship, like everyone else seemed to. No more fighting or arguing, or strange stares. Because, I realize now, I owed it to Charlie and Esme to make this work out.

No matter how much I did _not_ like him, I _had_ to _try. _For _their_ sake.

And so, I would...

He comes home from work just after five thirty in the afternoon and, by that time, I've prepared two plates with scrambled eggs, and slices of toast. My heart is pounding anxiously, as I hear him come through the front door.

He calls out my name warily; I call back, and let him know I'm in the dining room.

He comes around the corner, looking a little run-down from a long day of work. Then, he stills a fraction, as he takes in the steaming hot plates of food on the dining room table, as well as me sitting there in the seat I often frequented before, when Dad and my step-mother were still around.

"I made dinner," I explain quietly, wringing my hands underneath his prying gaze. His mouth stretches into a big-whopping grin at me, happy as always for food. He rubs his hands together. "I know it isn't much, but... I _hope_ you'll like it, anyway."

He eyes me and the plate of scrambled eggs and grisle-coated toast suspiciously, as he slowly slides into the chair opposite me. He arches a dark eyebrow over at me, "What brought this on so suddenly?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to apologize for being a brat this morning. It wasn't very nice of me." I look at him hard and honest, because I want him to be sure I mean it. "I guess, I feel a little... _touchy_ with you telling me what to do, and all." It took a lot to admit it.

He nods silently, contemplating my heartfelt words.

He picks up his fork, and starts playing with his food, forking his eggs around. He doesn't eat yet; Just brings his eyes up at me, waiting patiently for me to do the same, and eat mine. "Did you poison it?" he asks cautiously, completely out of the blue.

Before I know it, I'm exploding into laughter hysterically at his words.

He looks puzzled, for all of a second the instance it slips through my mouth, and I feel completely the same. My hand flies over to cover my mouth to cut it off, in pure shock. It's seemed so long, since I've laughed so carefreely and sincerely. Well, a full day at the most since I have been able to, ever since hearing the news of our parent's fatal car accident.

"Well, now," I gasp out, sardonically, "That's a very intriguing idea. Too bad, I haven't."

He smiles at me mildly, and then starts to eat. He shovels a forkload of egg into his mouth, swallows loudly, then says, off-handedly, "I like it."

I still from my eating, stunned. "Like what?" _The overcooked food?_

His smile widens, as he diverts my eyes to look down at his plate and, if I'm not mistaken, his cheeks redden slightly. "You laughing again, I like it. I like the sound of it." His eyes flutter closed briefly, and this peaceful look overcomes his face. It's a little startling. "I've_ always_ loved the sound of it. So warm, so contagious. Heartwarming."

My face feels it's flushing scarlet. "Heartwarming?" I question, a little timidly.

_Boy, he says some of the most peculiar things but... I can tell he meant it. And, if I'm honest here, it was kind of nice._

"Very," he murmurs quietly, then starts eating again.

I force myself to eat, too. Only, it's hard to swallow.

My throat feels its closing up, because the food I've cooked...it_ really_ is no substitute to Esme's wide arrangement of food. Grilled steak, vegetables, with the most thick mouthwatering onion gravy. It's only then, I realize how much I've taken her for granted. The way she was so eager and happy to cook for us, especially.

Plus, the realization we could be friendly and actually have conversations now that our parent's are gone...

_Why couldn't we even do that, while they were alive? They would have been happy to see it. It was sad to know that, in more ways than one. I should have tried harder to get along with him, when they were alive. But, unfortunately, I hadn't. I didn't even try to, at all._

"What is it?" He asks, maybe realizing something was up with me.

I set my fork gently against my plate, and fold my hands out in front of me. I'm frowning deeply, unsettled.

"It's just..." I don't know whether I ought to really say it or not, considering she was his mother. I was sort of worried that it would get him upset. Hit some raw, tender nerve inside him. "It's just... I miss your mother. I really do." I smile fondly down at my hands. "And, eating this godawful food I've cooked for us, reinforces that. She was such an amazing cook, she was always so happy to see us. I've taken her for granted, I realize that now..."

Tears well in my eyes. I have to scrunch them closed, to keep the stinging waterworks in.

"Your food isn't so bad," he says, casually. "So, it mightn't be as good as my mother's, but...it's definitely edible." I can't help but get the feeling he is lying to make me feel better somehow, and an uneasy laugh gets stuck in my throat. "Still," he goes on, brightly, "I think I'd eat anything you made for me, burnt toast, and all..."

For the first time in my life, I realize I've been wrong about him the whole time. He wasn't so bad, in his own way. He could be a good person, if yet weird to understand. It was nice. Being here at the dinner table with him, and making silly mind-numbing conversation, was actually nice.

_This was new. Something completely unexpected._

But it made how I treated him this morning, and last night, all the more regrettable, and had me feeling even worse inside, even more guilty than I already had.

"You know, I'm _so_ sorry," I manage, my voice low, deep, and too husky in earnesty.

He is baffled. "For _what_, Bella?"

"For how I acted." I sniffle loudly. I run my fingers over my face. "Both last night, and this morning. I suppose... I was angry with you this morning, and, honestly, I _still_ am."

He smiles wryly, and laughs. It stuns me; Why should he be laughing over it? Shouldn't he still be mad? "I assumed as much. Especially how you acted towards me this morning, as well as last night, for that matter, when you woke up next to me." His next words are soft, gentler, surprisingly understanding. "But, I can understand why. This is a big change for me, too. But I knew, initially, how hard this was going to be without our parent's."

At his words, it feels like I'm coming undone, crumbling for his eyes to see. Tears stream down my face, and my chin quivers.

"I just don't understand why you loathe me so much, and why you were so furious when you woke up and realized I was right next to you in the bed..." He trails off uncertainly, his voice a little uneven.

I take a needed breath, and peer up at him. He sits there, still, not eating; his fork resting untouched on the edge of the china plate. He has an elbow on the table, right hand resting flat against the side of his cheek, while he watches me intently to start my silly explanation into why.

"I guess I'm just wondering, why it is you haven't cried, like...like_ I_ have? It frustrated me, and made me feel so so angry. Even yesterday, when you told me, you... you _never_ at all. You went to work this morning, as if it never even happened."

He is silent for a moment, considering the easiest way to explain.

"Because, I'm just not like you, Bella. I can't cry so... _openly_ in front of other people, like you." He rubs at his chin with his fingers thoughtfully. "I can only cry, when I'm alone. I don't like crying in front of people, even. But, that doesn't mean, I haven't cried." He smiles at me softly, then adds, equally as quiet as before, "I cried in my room, alone, last night after you left... because I don't want you to see me. But, since I'm older than you, if not a bit more mature than you are... I think, I have a more positive insight into how I look at things."

"Positive, how?" I ask, eager to know. "How can anything positive come out of their deaths?"

"Well," he starts, pursing his lips. He clasps his hands together, and regards me, very seriously. "On the bright side of things, I'm not dead. And," he points a finger over at me, "Neither are _you_, for that matter. I think that is, _at least_, _something_ to be grateful for, as well as to celebrate."

I stare down at my hands, silently, thinking it through. I was different than him, though. I had a different way of looking at things, like this. Our parent's were dead. _Charlie_, is dead. Charlie, who raised me as a little girl. Charlie, who taught me how to walk, how to ride bicycles at a tender age. I didn't think I could ever get over that.

And, while I _was_ relieved to be alive... it still hurt to look past that.

"I still don't understand why you're so disgusted by me...?" He presses urgently, tearing me out of my wallowing at once.

I don't know how to be honest without it offending him somehow. But, I try my best. I knew he would appreciate it, rather than me lying anyhow. "I guess, you make me feel uncomfortable." My voice is hesitant and small. "Sometimes, you say things, _sexual_ things about women that grosses me out and makes me dislike you. And sexual things about _me_, too. And, _sometimes_... you give me funny looks that unnerve me."

He stares at me, unblinking, for a long moment, while digesting my honest-to-god words. I can tell he is both surprised and confused.

"Funny looks?" he asks, in a low bemused tone. He shakes his head gently. "What do you mean?"

I shake my head, speechless. _God, how were you even meant to explain it?_

But then, he holds up a hand to stop me from speaking, and says, "While I agree, I _do_ look at you," he agrees, smiling slightly. "I catch myself staring at you more times, than I would care to be conscious of. But it's not for a bad reason. It's nothing negative." He shrugs, and huffs out a breathy laugh. "I simply like looking at you, and observing you. And, there's no harm done in that, _is_ there?"

I am completely alarmed by his words, if yet completely put-off by them. _He likes looking at me, and observing me? What the hell for?_

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable by doing it, honestly," he continues readily a moment later. "It is just something... I'm unable to control."

"Well," I whisper, uneasily, "Do you think that maybe you could try not to do it?"

"I could try." He nods and has the heart to look a little abashed. "But I don't want to."

_Okay. He could try, only he doesn't want to? What?_ That throws me off, in a mindblowing way.

"You... you don't _want_ to?" I gasp out, anxiously. I don't understand what he's saying, or what he even means by this. At all. I'm at a complete loss, my mind blank.

"I enjoy looking at you, and watching you. That isn't a crime, _is_ it?"

I stare at him, disbelieving. Huh?

His eyes are glistening in intensity, as they continue to look deeply in my own over the table, without any semblance of apology. God, I don't think I'm even breathing. I'm sucking in my breath, and holding it in. I even start to feel quite faint.

"Bella, look at it this way," he continues, unabashedly, "It's better to look, than to touch, don't you think?" The way he puts it, like that... sends a cold sweat over my body, and goosepimples raise all over, in discontent. "And I know you don't want me to touch you, I _know_ you don't. But, if I'm to be completely frank here, if I don't get to look, then I'm definitely gonna wanna touch, sooner or later down the line."

He has to be joking; he just has to be. He is definitely playing some crazy-ass trick on me!

To show I get the joke, a half-hearted smile lifts my mouth at him. Only, he's not smiling. He looks completely, and utterly, sincere. His expression is grave, his forehead crumpled in truth.

_Oh my god._ My mind takes in his words fearfully. _He's being serious here!_

"But you're... you're my step-brother?" I can't hide the horror in my voice, and he definitely hears it.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes with his fingers, frustratedly.

"What does that even _matter_ to me, what does that _even_ have to do with me," he mutters, exasperated. "We're not related by blood, Bella, we're not. We're not _even_ related. We don't share anything; Blood, genetics..." He shrugs nonchalently, like it's no big deal. Which I'm pretty darn sure it is; To me, anyway. _Oh, my god_. "I've always liked you, Bella. Hell, probably even more than I ought to for a girl your age. Ma was always scolding me for it, and I can understand her viewpoint, I honestly can."

My mouth is completely dry by what he is telling me.

_Well, okay._ Maybe there _was_ a part of me, _deep down inside_, that always figured he might have liked me a little bit but... I could never see him as anything more than a step-brother. I just felt automatically conditioned to be grossed out with him, almost as if he were my own biological brother. I couldn't see him as anything more, I just couldn't. It just struck me as... super weird.

"I understand it's unethical, and whatnot. And that it complicates the whole family hierarchy, but that's just the way I feel." He waves a hand absentmindedly into my direction. "Now, I don't know if you feel the same way as me, but...if you _do_, then, I..." His voice fades off into silence, as he looks at me expectantly for an answer. But, it was just too much for me to digest.

_I mean, what... are you meant to say?_

_Where are you meant to even start?_

"Edward," I start slowly, and uncertainly. He sits up straighter in his chair, his gaze eager and searching. "I've lived with you, since I was fifteen, I'm pretty sure. We met, when I was... fourteen and you, twenty-two." I shake my head, completely unsure how to say it. "Not that I'm not flattered that an older guy, like yourself, has taken interest in a young girl like me, but... I'm just... I'm seventeen, I'm still in high school. I... I really have no interest in being in a serious relationship, with _anyone_ right now. Especially not _you_," I add, apprehensively. "I see you as, kind of, an older brother. Family, sort of. And, I don't think I could ever...you know, _see you_ in a different way. Or, at least... in the way two people in a relationship should about each other. It just... it just seems wrong to me, you know."

_I cannot believe I am even having this conversation with him! How crazy! How... awkward, and so so strange!_

He actually looks disappointed, as he leans back in his chair and runs both hands through his light auburn hair. _Did he honestly think I might have even liked him in that way, too? I could never..._

"Is that all right with you?" I ask, nervously.

_I cannot believe I am saying this to my step-brother! I cannot believe I even _have to_ say it! _

"I know we didn't get along very well, when our parents were alive. But, _honestly_... I want things to be different. I feel as if, I do want to get to know you, and be more... close to you, as a step-sibling. I'm sad that we got off on the wrong foot all those years ago, and that our parents aren't here now... just so that we could show them that it _is_ possible for us to get along and be friendly with one another."

He laughs at me, and I have no idea why.

"What?" I ask, rubbing my hands and fingers together self-consciously.

His shakes his head, smiling widely in amusement.

"_What_?" I repeat, a little more firmly.

"You just have _no idea_, do you?" His voice lowers a notch, and darkens somewhat. It's like there's an inside joke that he's laughing to himself at, and I haven't the sightest idea what he means. He is still smiling widely, but that smile turns bitter and has a hardened edge. He closes his eyes tightly, and looks to be breathing in deeply, calming himself. But, when he reopens them, they're replaced with such hard indignation, it worries me. "Do you honestly think I can see you, like that?"

"Like, what?" I manage, shakily.

He tisks his tongue against the bed of his mouth loudly, and grimaces wryly. "Just like you don't mean anything to me. Just like, I don't think about you, and what it must be like to be with you."

_O-kay..._ I swallow anxiously.

"Because I do _all the time_, Bella. And, I can't just make those feelings disappear. Especially not when we're living together, and I have you _all_ to myself now." He just won't quit talking. Everything, all that he is saying... is rubbing me up the wrong way, only he doesn't seem to get that. He can't. "I was hoping now that our parent's are out of the picture, maybe you'd be a little more easy-going with me. But that isn't going to happen, _is_ it?" His voice is so low, he's growling almost. "I was hoping you'd let me touch you now, _kiss you_... show you how much so that I _love_ you, without our parent's getting in the way."

His breathing is ragged, and violently heavy; The only thing to be heard in the whole dining room area. Without warning, he rises quickly from his chair, abandoning his dinner.

And then... he comes slowly over to my side and, definitely this time, I stop breathing.

His eyes hold my own fiercely, until he has broken the distance between us completely. He stands behind my chair, his breathing still so shallow and uncontrolled. His hand is on the back of my chair. And, while I can't see him anymore, I can certainly feel his presence right behind me; his eyes burning into the back of my skull.

I stare down at my hands, wishing it all to stop. I wish he would stop; I don't want to hear anymore of what he is saying because, frankly... it scares me. _He_ scares me. I really don't know who he is.

A small gasp slips from my lips, the second I feel his knuckles touch the nape of my neck. His curled fingers rub against my skin, tangling the small hairs there, making me heated all over. It is unexpected, and so so unpleasant- at least, I convince myself it was- mainly, because I didn't like him touching me and, I don't think that could ever change.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me," he murmurs behind me, desperately. Trying to illustrate how disinterested I am, I force myself to return to eating, picking up my fork. But he doesn't get the picture, like I had assumed he would, because he goes on, "Do you have any idea how hard it was to restrain myself from touching you, out of fear my mother, or _your_ father, would get angry, Bella?"

I am literally quaking like a leaf over his words- but not in a good way. Because, I _don't_ want this, I _don't_ want to hear any of it. Not because I didn't care, but because I didn't particularly care for _him_, in that way.

"_Please stop_," I breathe out pleadingly, then take a forkful of egg into my mouth.

"Please, _please_ say you'll sleep in my bed with me tonight. Bella, please."

He puts both of his hands gently on each side of my head, and starts playing with my hair, pulling it out from my neck, and running his fingers through it.

He gasps, and says fervently, "I've always wanted to touch your hair. To experience how it must feel like in my hands. Now that our parents aren't here, I can do it _whenever_ I please..."

_And then, I've downright had enough._

_Because, all that he was saying... about our parents, about how maybe it was a good thing so he can "get alone" with me, everything, just made me hurt even more over the loss of them. _

I let my fork clatter loudly against my plate, and pull myself out of my chair to my feet, determinedly. I know I'm about to break down and cry, or yell at him, or do... _something_. I just don't know _what_ exactly.

All I know, is that I need to get away from him. _In my room;_ that is where I want to be. In my room, free of _him_.

"Bella, what are you doing?" He sounds confused, and deliriously excited, all at the same time. Excited for what, I have no idea...

"Edward, _stay away_ from me," I warn, very near to tears. "I _mean_ it!"

I go to pass his shoulder, and then both his hands are gripping my shoulders. His touch is strong and demanding, steering me to a stand-still directly in front of him. His hands flex over my shoulders, and squeeze gently.

"Should I give you a massage?" he breathes, softly. "Your shoulders are _very_ tense, Bella." _And he wonders why they're tense. He's touching me and being weird. That is why I'm so tense inside, and coiled in anxiety!_

"I want to go into my room," I tell him stiffly, avoiding looking him straight in the eye. I focus on his chin instead. "I want to be _alone_, Edward. And, I _want_ you to _stop_ touching me and saying all these things..."

He sighs heavily through his nostrils, while his hands start again; his fingertips pressing down into the arch of my hunched shoulders; massaging and applying pressure to rigid points of my flesh.

"Edward," I moan out weakly in protest, short of a wretched cry. "P-p-_please_."

"I just want to touch you, and be near to you. _That's it_. I don't mean to make you upset, I _swear_."

His words. They're too cloyingly sweet, too sickening.

"Well, you're_ making me_ upset by doing this," I whisper petulantly. "I just want to go to bed, since I'll be going to school tomorrow." _I don't think I'll ever miss school ever again now. A chance to be out of the house...away from him_.

At long last, he releases me, and I have to hold in a relieved sigh.

"Well, all right," he says reluctantly, his voice raw. "Go get changed into your pajamas, and then I'll come up and sleep beside you."

_What?_ "No," I breathe out, desperately resistant. "I want to sleep in my bed _alone_."

His breathing is harsh at my words. I can tell I've offended him but what does he expect?

"Fine." His voice is tight. Defensive, even. "Whatever you want."

"Thank you," I sob unevenly. I push past him, and round quickly up the staircase, as fast as my legs will possibly allow me without stumbling or tripping over a step. Once inside my room, I close the door behind me gently and cover my hands over my mouth.

It's enough to stifle the overwhelmed, built-up wail I've suppressed when near him, from being too loud that he could so-happen to hear it from downstairs. I howl frustratedly into my hand, deeply.

_Why couldn't he just take my words into consideration? Why didn't he understand then, like a normal guy would have, that I didn't feel things for him in that way whatsoever, and not try to push me into it with words and attempts to touch me? _

_Insane. _I am actually starting to think the guy is insane, and I just don't know what to do about it.

I definitely need a lock for my bedroom door, though. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep him out, if he insists on being so persistant.


	10. Affection

**I own nothing to do with Twilight, of course. Just own the plot of this funny little tale.**

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**Hoping you will enjoy this chapter. I hope it isn't badly written, and that it doesn't disapoint you. Thanks fr reading, you lovely awesome, people. Hopefully see you next update xx**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 10<em>**

"What's that?" Edward asks, as hushed as a whisper, while he drives the car along after picking me up from school. I knew what he was hinting at, the second he mentioned it.

_My hand_.

On my palm, was a roughly scribbled down cell phone number in blue ballpoint pen. I pull my sleeve down over it to cover it more. Only, I knew it was too late. He had already seen it with his eyes himself. Who knows what he'll say about it, or how he'll take it?

The phone number in question, belonged to a boy. His name is Jacob. I met him this lunch break today, and he said he thought I was cute, and that I should consider calling him so that we could talk and get to know one another. I found it very flattering a guy, like him, would ever call me that. _Cute, good-looking..._

Alice and I were sitting on the bleachers, letting the sunrays soak up and warm our skins, reading a gossip magazine Alice had brought along with us. Only, her concentration was on everything else but that magazine, because Jasper Hale, the school quarterback and her crush, was out in the green rectangular field, practising football. He would muck around with another one of the players, tackling him, laughing and smiling, and shaking off his sweat covered blond hair.

I wasn't really interested in other boys at school. No one at all, really. But then, he caught my eye.

He was running and jumping over the hurdles in the marathon lane, and he was sprinting so fast, it was awe-inspiring. He had closely cropped, dark hair, and he was wearing a sleeveless grey T-shirt, which was damp with sweat, and showed off his toned and tanned arms something wonderful. It wasn't often I found a guy cute, or even found myself wondering what it would be like to date them; I was much more focused on school work, than dating, or anything like that.

Plus, I had a bad experience and learned from it with the boy I had a crush on a few years back; Michael Newton tonguing Jessica Stanley in the hallway, when it was probably obvious to him I'd liked him, and learned that relationships at my age in high school never seemed to last. I think I just had bad luck with most boys in general, so I forced myself into not liking anyone.

But, with this Jacob boy, I did. He was very cute.

As he jogged back, he looked right at me while doing it. His eyes were a nice deep dark brown, and his smile. Whoa, his smile was something else entirely. When he started up to our direction, breathing heavily to catch his breath, he smiled at me. It was a big, radiantly white smile that had my stomach fluttering, in butterflies or something similar to it.

"Hi," he had said, once he crossed the distance and kneeled down near where Alice and I were sitting, fingers resting on his knees and back hunched, while he breathed and breathed.

His face was bathed in a clear, shiny sheen of sweat, but it did not detract, at all. He had a light amount of dark stubble on his chin, and his teeth were so nice and white. He was kind of pretty- in an entirely masculine way, of course.

"Hi," I muttered back, shyly.

"Hi Jacob," Alice said to him distractedly, curling a strand of hair around her finger, while she kept her eyes on Jasper Hale out on the field. She knew him from Chemistry class, I think. He was her classmate.

He nodded to her curtly, then sat next to me, bringing his arms over his knees, paying me more attention than Alice. It was a little surprising. I would get boys saying that Alice was prettier than me all the time, so I expected him to be the same.

Only, he was staring right at me intently, while his breathing calmed.

"Have you been at this school all this time?" he asked, a little breathlessly. His voice was very low-pitched.

My cheeks flushed for some reason. "Yes, I have. Why do you ask?"

"Because..." He trailed off meaningfully, leaning over closer to me. His sweaty lycra covered knee knocked into mine, and I sucked my breath in. Usually, a boy wasn't so keen on invading into my personal space. Edward, an exception. "Surely, I would have noticed you. Right?"

I opened my mouth to speak, feeling redder by the instance, as I peered down at what his leg was doing, jiggling back and forth against mine, but then Alice was cutting in, boredly.

"That is because, Jacob, Bella isn't an attention-grabber like the other girl's at this school. She's a good girl." I grimaced at her off-hand comment, a little embarrassed. Way to make an impression, Alice. Now what must he think of me?

He must think I'm this boring, goody-two-shoes, or something now.

"Nah, I don't think that's it," he disagreed brazenly, smiling at me so wide. I didn't know why he was looking at me the way he was, so interested and eager for some reason, but he just was. And then, it was then, he had blurted it out, so quickly and confidentially in my ear, it had me bursting with joy. He leaned over, until he was fanning hot breaths in my right ear, "That's crazy. I don't think that's it," he muttered, "Because you're too cute not to notice."

I had smiled, a little weakly, when he pulled back to meet my eyes, his dark ones glinting in squinted playfulness.

"I'm not cute," I had batted his comment away, self-consciously. My cheeks were flaming.

"Yeah, you _are_. I think you're cute, anyway."

He shrugged, and the bulging bicep muscle on his arm rippled something eye-catching. I couldn't seem to look away from those tanned and toned arms, then. He was so... appealing to the eye. Especially, that fit body. You could tell he put in a lot of time and effort in working out.

He clicked his fingers together, then he slumped over to one side on the bleachers, digging one of his hands into the pocket at the side of his lycra shorts. It was then, he had produced a ball-point pen, and had wiggled his dark eyebrows at me, playfully, teasingly.

"How about I give you my number, and then maybe... if you want, no pressure, you could give me a call, and we could talk?"

I was seriously stunned, as I held out my hand to him, open and palm facing forward, for him to write it down. My mouth was probably gaping open-and-shut, like a fish out of water over it.

I had to try my very hardest not to laugh, when he started writing his digits on the fleshy part of my palm. It had tickled. Once he was finished, he had placed the lid of the pen in his mouth, and had started sucking it, clicking it against his teeth gently, like it were hard candy.

"Hoping to hear from you, then," he said, voice sort of muffled from the cap in his mouth.

And then, with a meaningful little wink at me, which had me writhering with excitement to start gushing it to Alice once he was gone and out of earshot, he stood and jogged back over to the set of hurdles, with a confident bounce to his run.

I smile to myself a little bit, at the memory of what happened this lunch break.

After he had returned, fully focused on his running, Alice and I had turned to each other silently, wearing both the same mirrored expressions on our faces; Awe, surprise, and most especially, excitement.

We couldn't stop gushing about it, even in class. We wrote notes in biology, keeping our eyes trained on the teacher in case he caught us.

He hadn't caught us jotting down notes secretly, which was fortunate, because it spared us the mortification of having to read the notes to the entire class. The whole class would have laughed at us, and then the teacher would have shook his head and tisked his tongue at us, disappointment etching on his haggard face.

Alice told me I had to call him tonight, soon as I got home from school, otherwise he would get the wrong impression and would immediately assume I didn't like him. No if's, or buts, about it.

But how could I possibly do that now, when Edward knows about it? I was positive he was going to give me grief about it.

I turn to steal a quick peek over at him, but I can't really tell what he is feeling, or thinking, about it.

Maybe he doesn't even care? Maybe I'm just making a ridiculously big deal over it? _Hope so._

As Edward slows the car down a bit, and turns a tight corner, he turns to look at me. I assess him with my eyes quickly. There is no give-away of any emotion. How he's feeling in regards to it, is completely unfathomable. But then, his eyebrows raise a fraction.

I think he's asking me, with his look alone, to explain more. So, I do.

"It's just a friend's phone number," I tell him, quietly. "They asked me to call them tonight, but I didn't have their number, so they wrote it down for me." Oh, boy. Do I sound too suspicious, too eager to explain to lessen whatever mood he will be in?

I fold my hands in my lap, twiddling my fingers around, pretending they are so darn interesting.

"_Just_ a friend?" he repeats, equally as quiet as I was. "_Which_ friend, Bella? _Male_, or female?"

My eyes close, as I catch the lilt of soft sarcasm in his voice, as well as a tinge of humour. Is he finding this funny? Maybe I don't need to worry, after all.

"A boy," I answer, a little reluctant, because I don't know what he'll think.

Especially after what happened so uncomfortably that night, how he was shooting his mouth off almost relentlessly, with all these crazy words about liking me, and getting me alone, and maybe having the chance to touch me now...

Lifting my gaze, I turn to look at him for the briefest of a second, judging, before turning my head in the direction of my window. Outside, everything is fast swirling colors of green, from the trees, a cloudy grey, from the overcast sky. I think it'll rain this afternoon, I can feel it. He's driving his car faster than I realized, you can't much focus on one thing of the scenery before it goes blurring past your eyes.

"Now, that's what I thought." He says, after a while. His voice drops so low, I definitely can't decipher what he feels about this. A flicker of shame flares through me, but I didn't know why. Why should I feel bad? I told him I could never see him in that way, only he didn't listen. What does he expect? He says, in a much brighter, louder tone, that frightens me a little, "Put your hand on my leg."

I dart him a confused, questioning look. "What? Why?"

I didn't want to put my hand someplace on him I didn't want it to be, but he was just so adamant on it. He tells me to do it, again and again, until I finally give in. My hand is trembling, as I reluctantly relent, placing it on the leg closest to arm's reach. He is so warm. His trousers are so warm and a slippery silk.

He slides a hand off the steering wheel, and for a moment, my heart races in fear. With his fingers, he slides the sleeve of my jacket up over my wrist, and turns my hand over gently, with rough, calloused fingertips.

He looks down at Jacob's messily scribbled phone number briefly, and then brings his eyes up to the road to concentrate on driving, and keeping the car in line with the double white lines of the highway. I don't know what he's thinking at all.

"Do you _like_ him?" he asks desperately, completely out of the blue. "You want to date him, and kiss him?"

"Yes, I think so." I go to move my hand out of the way, only he does something that both shocks me and disgusts me, rendering me completely still; He cups his hand over his mouth, spits in it, and then brings it down, rubbing his wet saliva coated hand up and over my hand and the digits disturbingly.

I can't believe what he's doing. _Why_ spit on your hand? But then, I get it.

"No boys," he spits out bitterly, rubbing and rubbing incessantly. He turns his head to look over at me, and he is definitely angry in me. The nostrils are flaring, the eyes are pinched and furious. "I don't want to hear anything about it, Bella. I don't want you calling anyone, whether they be your gender, or_ otherwise_!"

I'm completely stunned. "I'm allowed to call or see who I want to see, Edward. It's none of your business!"

"Oh, I think it is," he argues, his voice shaking. "Bella, I'm trying to take care of you, you're my responsibility now. If you haven't noticed, I've been buying food and stocking the refridgerator at home, because half of the things Ma brought are rotting now. I pick you up from school every afternoon, make sure you get home safely. The least you can do, is show me a _little bit_ of respect here."

My mouth drops open. "Respect?" Grunting to make my disgust known, I pull my hand free and start wiping it off frantically. His spit. On my skin. Jacob's number a smudge of ink. Ugh. "Maybe if _you_ treated me with some respect, I would show you the same in consideration!"

He laughs at my words. It isn't a very friendly sound at all. "I don't respect you?" There is singing outrage in his voice, hysterical disbelief. "I don't _push you_ into _anything_, I don't _touch you_ because I _know_ you don't want me to. I don't _force you_ into bed with me. Does that not sound like respect, to you?" He just keeps going on and on. It's enough to make me want to turn irrationally violent. "I make sure you get to school, because I know education is vital for a girl your age, and that you'll benefit from it. I make sure there's food so you won't starve, when you get hungry. I think that's a lot more respect than what you show me, Bella."

"I don't _want_ to talk about this anymore," I sigh, in irritation. And, _still_... he keeps at it.

"I'm good to you, aren't I?" He's hurt. Great, I've definitely hurt him, and how? "I'm not asking for much in return, Bella. Just that you respect me, you obey what I say and listen, and show me a little bit of affection, every now and then. It wouldn't hurt you any."

Whoa, now.

"Affection?" I hiss. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. Or hitting something, even. The man is just so... irritating to me. So hard to get along with, and so confusing. I don't think that'll ever change. "What are you _even talking about_?"

At my question, he looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. But for an entirely different reason altogether. He opens his mouth, about to say it, and looks over at me, meaningfully. And then, his mouth closes, and he can't seem to say it.

But then, his hand covers over my kneecap and he squeezes gently, and it's enough for me. Enough to understand what he is hinting at, enough to make sense of it all.

Actions speak louder than words, and what this tells me, is just... _wrong_.

"What?" I breathe out, feeling helpless and defeated. "You want me to show you affection? What_ is_ that?" Oh, god. I feel like I'm going to be sick. This can't be happening. This cannot be what he expects from me, please!

"I just want a little affection sometimes," he says, so quietly, it comes out a deep rumble. "A little appreciation for my efforts here. These past few weeks have been very hard, but we've managed to pull through, haven't we? I've been taking good care of you, haven't I?" He strokes my knee with his hand, but I shiver, because I don't care for his comfort at all. "It's all I ask, Bella, that's it." His voice trembles with heavy emotion. "Just to let me touch you every once in a little while. I'm feeling totally deprived here, and it's driving me crazy!"

I honestly don't think I can do it, I just can't. I can't go through with what he's asking me, because... I just can't. It's too hard, and he both simultaniously scares me and unnerves me, all at the same time. As well as ellicits some type of sad, desperate sympathy from me.

I peer down at his hand, which has found a somewhat startling place over my knee, long fingers curled and picking the material of my school trousers.

Could it be so hard just to give in, and give him what he wants every once in a while? Surely, he just expects a brief touch of the hand, or a hand rub. _That's it, right?_

So, with a fixed resolve, I go to touch his hand. It rests illy on his large and warm one, small fingers to his knuckles, for about half a second, until the funny feelings gurgle in my stomach; Feelings of unwant, and unease.

He turns his face toward me, and he's actually smiling mildly over it. The happiness that radiates off every inch of him, is suffocating.

"See, Bella, it's not so hard, is it?"

Maybe to stress his point, he lifts his arm and catches my chin in between his thumb and forefinger, and pinches a little bit, gently. It's a bit like how I'd seen his mother touch him, full of tenderness and adoration.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes out, sounding awed and in wonder, all at the same time.

But it's too much. I can't deal with it.

Forcing a smile on my stiff lips, I wrap my hand over his wrist, and pull it down and away from my chin. I'm reeling, both sick and panicky.

I had a feeling now, this will make things change; The smallest amount of time I allowed him touch me, and me touch him a little in return, will alter things between us forever. He'll think it's acceptable to do... _more_, I just know it.

And, I was dreading the instance we got home, because of it. Who knows, if he'll enter my room indefinitely this time tonight for some more... _affection. _

While he _had_ been good to me ever since that night, where he told me all those weird things; By never bringing it up, because I would get angry and near-to-tears, and he could see that, in which, he would deliberately stop talking about it because of the extreme reactions it would bring out of me, and keep his distance.

He gave me my personal space. He let me stay in my room and gave me the freedom to stay in there away from him for hours, and he never did come in thankfully. He never tried to touch me again after that night, or say anything strange.

And, it was nice, however brief it lasted.

Because now, it was all definitely gone. I could feel things were about to change. All those moments of respecting my privacy, my personal space, everything, were about to be disregarded, all because I let him touch me, and me touch him unwillingly, in return.

**Hope you enjoyed this chappy? Please let me know, and thanks so much for reading.**  
><strong>Until next update x<strong>


	11. Somebody's Trying

_**I own nothing to do with Twilight, and never ever will. I am a fan however, clearly lol ;)**_

_**I'm not too sure about this chapter. I hope it isn't really bad, and that you'll be kind on me. I really hate my writing sometimes so I apologize but at the same time, am really appreciative that you all seem interested in the story. It makes me truly happy and not as self conscious with my writing and updates.**_

_**So, I hope you'll enjoy :) Please be kind. I might go hide now... **_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 11<strong>_

I'm standing around near the basin, brushing my teeth with peppermint toothpaste, and shivering in my thin pajamas.

I had to leave the dinner table early, because it was all getting too much for me. And that was such a shame, because we ordered pizza and it was the best thickest-crust, cheesy pizza I've ever tasted in my entire lifetime.

It was silence that did it to me, though. This unnerving silence between the two of us, caging around us thick with tension, while we ate. I don't know whether it was about today, in the car, our outrageous conversation where Edward disclosed he was feeling deprived of affection on some weird level, or whether it's about him finding out Jacob's number was scribbled on my hand, but it was definitely there. I couldn't have been imagining it. Something deeply... unsettling.

He wouldn't even look at me, let alone speak to me, throughout dinner. He kept his eyes on his plate, as he crammed mouthfuls and mouthfuls of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. But I could see something was bothering him; Something was definitely eating him up inside. Now, I don't know what, but it has to be something.

I catch someone move into the small bathroom from out of the corner of my eye, a tall shadow sticking out in contrast to the white tiled walls. I know it's him, and I don't even fully have to look. But I can't just not look, I need to be sure of what he's doing. Especially after all this uneasy silence. _Damn him_. I peer over at him unwillingly, swirling the bristles of the brush over my gums. He stands there by the bathroom door, in his pajamas, hands folded out in front of him. He's staring at me, like he expects something of me, or a bit like he is waiting for me to do something. What, I have no clue, but it's maddening.

I give him a dirty, _what-are-you-doing-standing-there_ look. "What _is_ it, Edward?"

He doesn't answer. He just strolls sedately towards me, left bare foot, right bare foot, until he is standing directly in front of me near the sink. His look is concentrated, focused. I whirl around to look him head-on.

"Can you please stop looking at me, like that?" I whisper, voice muffled with toothpaste.

"Like what?" he croaks out. He just stands there, staring at me, dead-silent, with a weird look on his face. It bugs me. Seriously unnerves me.

I bend over to spit, and rinse my toothbrush under the streaming faucet. My skin feels all itchy, prickly, underneath his stare.

"You're looking at me weird, and I _don't_ like it!"

He's offended, yet the smile doesn't fade. "_How_ am I looking at you weird?" God, he just doesn't get it.

"You're just staring at me, when I'm trying to brush my teeth!" My voice rises.

He doesn't say anything in response. Simply shrugs. But the smile widens, if possible.

I'm losing my already thin patience. "_What_ are you looking at me like that for?"

And still, he insists, its nothing. _Yeah, right..._

"Can you go away, please?" I say, very seriously. "I just want to brush my teeth in peace. Is that so much to ask?"

"Bella, I'm not even doing anything." He laughs quietly, like I've just said such a hilarious joke.

"Yeah, and that's what annoys me. Can you piss off?"

He laughs again, soft and breathy, though, if I'm not mistaken, looks slightly wounded over my outburst and harsh words. His eyes look over my face intently. I shiver underneath that look.

"I just come in to stay goodnight, that's simply it. No need to yell at me."

"Well, goodnight, then," I mumble aggravatedly.

"That's it?" His eyebrows quirk. He looks incredulous. "Where's my bit of affection that we talked about in the car earlier?" He says it with just the slightest trace of humour, but I know he really means it.

"I thought I already gave it to you?" I stare at him blankly.

"What? By only giving my hand a quick thirty-second squeeze in the car?" He's trying to be playful about it, but there isn't anything playful about it at all to me. "I'll always want more than that. How about we try for a goodnight kiss this time?"

I cringe at his words, because they're so encouraging, so tender, and hopeful.

I frown miserably. "I... I don't want to give you a goodnight kiss."

I know saying it out loud won't matter, but I say it anyway. It is the only single thing to cling onto, the hope that he will listen and respect my wishes. Only, when I dare to take a quick peek up at his face, something inside me changes profoundly at what I see. I'm awash with dispair, and regret. But ultimately, you can't force yourself into seeing someone in an agreeable light.

And while it was tragic, how pitiful and disappointed he looked standing right there, it was just something I couldn't ever change.

You can't force yourself to have feelings for someone, regardless- even if you'd wanted to.

And, with him, the feelings he stirred inside me, were not all that tender; He made me ill at ease, uncomfortable and, at times, worried for my safety. I don't know yet how far he would go, or how much he would push me into doing anything physical with him.

Like always, I can't take the staring anymore, so I turn and rest against the basin. I plop my toothbrush back into the holder.

"You don't want to give me a goodnight kiss?" He repeats. His voice is demandly loud; I think he wants reasons into why.

"Yes." I sigh deeply. My eyes close, until I see nothing. Darkness. Just plain old darkness underneath my eyelids. "I _don't_ want to. That'll never change. Besides, I told you that already."

But, with my eyes pressed tightly shut, it opens up a whole lot of new senses. I hear the way his bare feet slap against the tiles rapidly and know, I _absolutely_ know, he's approaching me from behind.

"Hey, come here." His voice is as soft as an urgent whisper. I don't give in, though, because I don't want to. I don't want to be anywhere near him, frankly. He makes it very clear on me that he is standing behind me, when he puts an arm around me, pulls me in, and tucks my head underneath his head. His chin rests on my scalp, his heavy breathing tickling the hairs there with every ragged exhale. "See, it's not so bad, is it?" His words are a repeat of what he said before, in the car after I let myself touch his hand back. I know he means to reassure me by them, only it makes things that much harder. I can feel his jaw moving as he says the words.

"Yes, it _is_ that bad," I insist bluntly. Only, he doesn't move an inch. I try to reduce how harsh my voice is, somehow make it lighter in the hope it'll discourage him more effectively, "Please, take your arm off me. Step away from me."

"Only if you give me a goodnight kiss first." He is breathing into my neck.

"Are you _really_ bargaining with me on this?" I gasp, shocked. "You're bargaining to let me go, if I _kiss_ you?" He definitely is insane, no if's or buts about it.

"I am." His voice is low, alarmingly unapologetic. "Please." Great, now he's pleading me with. And, a part of me, deep inside, wants to actively resist and knee him one in the groin. But then... on the otherhand, my heart is surging for him a little bit. He certainly did seem upset in the car today after school.

I bite my lip, indecisive. Could one quick and innocent kiss really do me any harm? Well, sure, it was bound to be an unpleasant experience for me, simply because I did not like him in_ that_ way whatsoever. Plus, maybe this was what I had to do, in order to make him back-off completely?

Still, it feels like it'll kill me to do it. My stomach is churning at the idea.

But then... it seems I've been silent for too long.

"Jesus, _how much_ rejection am I supposed to take from you?" He growls in my ear, sounding very hurt and on-edge. Before I am able to gain reuse of my tongue, a hand wraps tightly over my forearm and he is separating himself from me, at true last.

He is panting heavily and I get the sense he's looking down at me, yet again. Only, I do not look up to check and see. I don't look up and make an assessment of his face, just to see how he is feeling, because I already know with his tone of voice alone, how he is feeling inside. A little pissed-off, a little impatient, a little humiliated for putting himself on the line, only to get turned down by me, once again. This time, I'm too scared to. I let my eyes fall down to my bare feet, focusing on the chipped pink nailpolish on my toenail's instead.

It registers, a second later, that his hand is still on my arm. But then, it loosens slowly, until it comes up to set underneath my chin instead. His hand is trembling. He pulls up, gently, until I am forced to peer deeply into his eyes.

It dawns on me then, I had misjudged the look I were bound to see clouding his expression.

I had expected him to be angry, only rather instead, his eyes were alarmingly soft and his expression less biting and severe. He's actually nervous, and he blows out a deep breath of air through his lips unevenly. I bite my lip again anxiously, and his eyes actually seem to fixate on it. And still, I find that small amount of courage within me to push him away.

I need to be alone. I need space to breathe. He is too suffocating, everything he says and does.

I stalk out of the bathroom and he lets me with no sign of protest. I run upstairs to my room, and slam the door shut behind me.

I'm breathing shallowly. My heart is thumping in my ears. I clutch a hand over my chest, and try to regain control of my breathing.

_Oh god. When was he ever going to give up?_

I start to panic a little, when I hear him come up the stairs. His footsteps are heavy-sounding, and exhausted somewhat. My whole body, from my scalp downwards, starts to shiver violently, when I hear the sound of his fingers tapping against the wood of my door gently. _Please don't come in and try to kiss me. Please don't!_

And then, he says in a muffled voice through the wood that leaves how he's feeling very clear on me, "Sleep tight, Bella, and make sure I don't come in to bite..."

I'm struck by how bitter his tone is, how humiliated, and somewhat threatening. My eyes widen a little at his weird rhyming jab, and I don't know whether to laugh, to take him seriously, or not. Still, what does he expect?

* * *

><p>I flip open my old, ancient cell phone, to be greeted with a message that tells me I've missed four calls, all in an hour. It tells me they're from Edward. <em>Oops.<em>

I knew he was probably worried, wondering where I am and why I'm not home yet. I thumb the redial button, and cradle the speaker over the side of my ear. I knew I really ought to have called him first and let him know, I'd be spending the night at Alice's house. But, somehow, it had just slipped my mind. I completely forgot. Plus, I felt some type of anger towards him over what he tried to get me to do last night. I may have been purposefully avoiding him, just a little. I may have also deliberately forgotten to let him know I'm at Alice's.

He answers on the second ring.

"Bella? Where are you?" He sounds worried. Panicked_. Totally unexpected._

"Yeah, sorry," I start morosely. "I'm staying over at my friend, Alice's, for the night. I just forgot to call, or check my phone. I didn't realize you had tried to call so many times, until I looked just then."

"Bella do you realize how worried I've been?" He's almost yelling at me. "When I got home from work and saw you weren't here at home yet, I got to thinking maybe that something might have happened. I thought maybe there had been an accident, and you were-"

"- Well, I'm fine," I talk over him, loudly. "I just needed some girl time, with Alice. I didn't mean to make you worried."

"Well, you did." Great. Now he's hurt. He just keeps going on-and-on. "You could have _at least_ texted me earlier, or even left a note at home, so I'd know where you'd be..."

"Well, I didn't think of doing that at the time. Me, sleeping over... it was a spur of the moment thing." And that side of it was true; At school, Alice kept begging me and begging me to stayover for the night. I decided, why the hell not, since my family situation at home was very difficult right now? _Anything to get away from Edward..._

"I don't care." He sighs, and his voice breaks, weighed down by some sort of emotion. "Things have to change. You have to start treating me different, Bella."

He's got my bristles up. _I have to start treating _him_ differently?_ "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, that you have to start treating me with respect. You have to tell me where you are, what you're doing, and treat me with a little consideration here."

"Oh, well, right back at you," I retort, dryly.

"Bella, I'm _not_ fucking around!" He is definitely yelling at me this time. Swearing, too. He didn't usually swear all that often in front of me, but I guess then, I made him real mad. "You tell me where you are at all times! I was fucking worried. I care about you, I worry about things! I... I didn't know where you were, or why you weren't home already. I thought maybe something terrible happened."

"Well, I'm sorry," I sigh miserably, through his harsh and loud scoldings. _God, I didn't know he would get this mad over it! I didn't know he'd panic, and act the way he was!_

"Will you be coming home tomorrow, or staying there another night?" His tone is more neutral, yet his urgent, shallow breathing gives him away. He's still angry.

"No, I'll be coming home tomorrow," I answer shortly.

"Good." He's relieved. "Just let me know next time, all right?" There is a softer edge to his voice, less mad now. I think I can almost hear a faint smile in his voice.

"Okay, I will."

"Good girl." His tone is lighter, more calm and composed. "So, you're staying at Alice's? Who is she?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, as I turn to look over at Alice. She's stuck in a heated debate with her dad, and her hands are fluttering around wildly as she speaks, and gestures. I smile to myself. "Um, you've met her once or twice before, when I was younger. She came over a few times, when dad and your mom started dating." I don't know why he doesn't remember her. Alice isn't easy to forget. Then again, maybe he didn't care what my friend's looked like, or who they were? I didn't care what his looked like, anyhow. "She goes to school with me." _Stating the obvious there, Bella._

I was positive he would remember her, surely. I could still remember the first time she came over, when I started visiting his mother and him. Our parent's weren't married yet, but they were seriously thinking about it. Then, living together came next. Living together, was like a trial of some sort for them to test out their relationship and how Edward and I got along in the same living quarters. Back then, Edward hadn't been as full-on as he was now. But then, I realize now, just how naively blind I was.

All that happened back then, I just believed was all of little significance. It's strange how wrong I was on that, especially how it went when Alice first came over that year, and how provocative Edward was being.

_"Your dad's girlfriend is, like, _the_ coolest," Alice said in unrestrained awe, giggling. "My mom never lets me eat treats, like popsicals every day."_

_"Neither does Esme, though," I told her, taking a lick of my popsical eagerly with my tongue. It was raspberry flavour; sweet with a tart, soury edge. Yum, my favorite. "She only let's me on weekends. But... since you're here, I think she'll let us do anything..." I flashed a grin over at her, only to find she wasn't paying me any attention. _

_Her gaze was elsewhere, on something, or _someone,_ in our front yard. Her bright sun-lit eyes ran down the object of her attention very slowly, and appreciatively. She tongued her bottom lip with a bright red, popsical-colored tongue, both flustered and captivated._

_She leaned over with her elbows touching the grass with a dreamy sigh. _

_"Mmmm," she said, swirling her tongue over the icy tip of her popsical. "Who's that?"_

_I followed t__he direction of her gaze curiously, unsure who or what __she meant, __and then __realized immediately __what she's hinting at, the instance I spot who has her so keenly interested. My heart did very strange somersaults against my ribcage._

_She was talking about Edward, who had been, at least, in the start of his early __twenties that year. _

_He'd been working on his car non-stop ever since he got home from work. He had changed out of his work clothes, and instead, was wearing sloppy clothes, while he leaned over the lifted bonnet of his car, checking foreign cables and wires. He was in grey baggy sweat pants, that hung off his slim pelvis bones in a very eye-catching way to a girl__,__ and a white sleeveless shirt. _

_The whole back of his shirt was drenched in both dark sweat, and streaks of car gre__ase. He kept wiping over his brows with the back of his hand, and his cheeks and forehead were glistening with a shiny wet sheen of sweat. It was hot that afternoon, over twenty degrees, and the sun was out and blistering__, so you could forgive a guy for s__weating. _

_"Oh, him," I mumbled unevenly. "That is Esme's son. His name is Edward. I don't really know much about him, other than what his mom has told me. She said he is a slob and needs to clean up his room." _

_I felt a bit guilty for it, but I really looked at him myself and, back then, I thought that maybe he didn't look too bad, even if he was soaked in sweat and dripping like an overheated animal. __Hey, I was fourteen and a half years old. I think, any guy older than me back then, held some type of unexplainable appeal. The attraction to somebody you knew you couldn't ever get. But I hadn't known him back then; Esme and Charlie had only just started dating, and Esme insisted I come over a few times a week, and that I could invite over my friends if I wanted to. The strange comments and looks hadn't started yet, but he would look at me and smile, like a really big I'm-so-happy-I could-die smile . _

_Or maybe, I was just too young and inexperienced to notice it then._

_Alice threw her head back over to look at me. She looked surprised. "He is Esme's _son_? _That_ is who you get to see everytime you come around here?"_

_I nodded, misunderstanding. "So?"_

_"So," she sighed meaningfully, returning her eyes back over to where he was, her eyes wide as saucers, "So, you didn't _tell me_ the woman your father is seeing has_ such_ a hot son!"_

_"Hot?" I scrutinized him again, wondering panickedly if there was maybe something wrong with my eyes. Or my taste in boys, for that matter. _

_I never got crushes on anyone- my age at school, or older. While Alice had about already four crushes in her belt, and counting. She would always come to me, gushing over a guy or an actor she thought was so good-looking. But, me... I never did. Not even once. I hardly even looked at boys, mainly I focused on my school work. _

_"Come on, Bella," she went on, bringing her hand over and pinching me on the elbow. I squealed a bit, and wriggled in the grass, and she laughed at me loudly. She was full of disbelief. "Don't you at least find him cute, for an older guy, I mean?"_

_I flushed, considering very seriously. _

_I looked at him again, concentrating hard. His lips were moving, fast, as he bent over the car to inspect something, but you couldn't hear him talking at all. Maybe he was just talking to himself, or maybe even singing?_

_"Well?" Alice giggled out, nudging me one with her elbow into my ribs. This time, I let out a much louder squeal and laugh, and it seemed he had heard it._

_I flushed, mortified, the instance he tilted his head out of the car to give the pair of us a side-long and interested look. Beside me, Alice was hyperventilating._

_"Oh my god, Bella," she started whispering quickly out the side of her mouth, sounding on the verge of a panic attack, "He's looking over here! What should we do? Wave, or smile, or something?" For a girl who had lots of crushes, she sure could be dim and inexperienced, which had me thankful. It meant I wasn't just the only one who didn't quite know how to react around an older, mature guy._

_Only, a second later, he had made up our minds and did it for us._

_"How you girl's doing?" He had called out loudly over to us, and even waved._

_I had blushed furiously, and wanted to die, while Alice bounced up onto her knees, craning her neck over at him eagerly. _

_"Good," she had yelled back over the yard at him. "Are you feeling hot?"_

_"Oh, my god, Alice!" I cried out, wanting to die. _

_I was pretty sure he had laughed out loud at her comment. He was laughing at us, and it had me so embarrassed. Then, to make matters a million times worse, he backed away from his car and started to approach us. I sat up quickly from my lying position to regard him nervously. __His mouth was lifted into a small smile._

_"Now that isn't fair," he said dryly, looking between the two of us, like a wounded little boy._

_"What's not?" Alice managed, in a very breathy and anxious voice._

_"You both have popsicals," he said playfully, feigning disappointment. He ran a greasy hand through his damp sweat-matted hair, and brought his eyes over to me. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't I get a popsical? Are you gonna share, Bella?" His voice was teasingly stern, and outraged. "Wasn't that how you were raised as a kid, to share? Didn't Charlie raise you that way?"_

_I had shrugged my shoulder up at him, bored, my short attention-span drifting off elsewhere, while Alice, keenly interested in boys and everything about them, stared between the two of us, eyes shining in excitement and humour._

_I poked out my tongue, trying to see if it looked just as red as Alice's had from the raspberry popsical, my eyes going all cross-eyed and funny. And then, he wrapped his hand over the one I had holding the stick of my popsical, and tried to yank it up, holding on. Alice was laughing so loudly, I was pretty sure she almost peed in her underwear. Only, it wasn't really funny to me at all. I didn't laugh, but I did glare and whine._

_"Hey, that's mine! You can get your own!"_

_"But I don't want my own, I want a taste of yours!" _

_Our faces were close together, as he kept up with his determined yanking to get the popsical free out of my grasp, maybe so he could lick it and taste it for himself. But then, something flickered over his face- this determined wicked glint in his eyes, and the wry smile curling over his lips- and he gave up on trying to pluck my finger's open so he could pull the popsical free. Rather instead, he poked his tongue out, and what a long tongue it was._

That said, he licked my popsical that day and, grudgingly, I threw it at him because I didn't want to be licking anything that had his germs all over it. I'm surprised he couldn't remember that...

"Who else is there, just you two?" Suddenly, his voice brings me out of that reverie instantly. I realize he's been talking to me the whole time, and I've spaced out on him. His voice is clipped, distant and curt, somehow.

"No. Well, Alice's parents are here, too, of course."

"What are you girl's up to?" _God, is this his way of making pleasant, friendly talk? Because it is so awkward._

"What do you t_hink_ we're doing?" I ask, skeptically."Obviously not too much. We're underage, so alcohol is out of the question, of course. We're not doing anything, except for just being girl's."

"And, what does that entail?" Wow, he sounds as if it is really interesting to him. Too weird.

"Well, we were reading fashion magazines an hour ago," I say quietly, unsure of what he wants to hear, or why even.

"Ah." He is silent for an unnervingly long second, then he says, stunning me, "Any boys?"

"What?" _What does he mean, any boys? Does he mean, do we have boys over or what? _

"_Are_ there any boys over? Are you flirting with them? Any that capture your interest?"

Whoa, headspin from all the questions...

"No, just Alice and her parent's," I say tartly, confused as to why he is asking. "Why? Do you think Alice's parents would let her have boys in her room?" I enquire, a little bit teasing, as well as disbelieving. _Why did he even ask that? _This all started ever since he caught sight of Jacob's number written on my hand.

Is he just worried for me, like an actual older stepbrother, or is this something more? I catch myself wondering idly. Or was this about none of that, at all, but the mere fact he said he likes me, in some twisted weird way?

"I don't know. Just making sure."

"What do you care, if there are boys in the room, or not?"

"Because, I don't want you hanging around boys, Bella," he says in a hard, dictatorial voice, like it's obvious reasoning. "I want you focused on school work. Do you have any homework that needs to be done?"

I roll my eyes, and sigh deeply. _Boring subject change. _"Yes, but I've completed most of it."

"Good girl." There he goes again. It's sort of patronizing. "I'll let you go, but I hope to see you tomorrow."

I dart a look over my shoulder. I'm in Alice's room now, we had gone upstairs in the middle of my phone conversation with Edward, and it's the most craziest room I think I've ever been in. Half her walls to the ceiling are covered in posters of boy bands and young male actors she likes. She even has her own laptop. Alice sits on her double bed, curling her toes, and painting them a bright sunny orange in color with nailpolish. Just as the phone clicks and a tinny woman's voice on the other line tells me the connection has been cut, and Edward's ended the call, she meets my gaze pointedly.

"Well?" she asks, excitement in her shrilling voice. "Are you allowed to sleepover? _Please_ tell me your step-brother said yes!"

Maybe something on my face gives it away, because abruptly, her head falls back and she's throwing her hands all over the place.

"We're going to have so much fun, Bella," she breathes, breathless after over a minute of gleeful squealing. "We're going to paint your fingernails, and do some makeup for school tomorrow. Then, when you see Jacob again, he'll be unable to resist!"

I smile, a little forcedly, because I could only just imagine what Edward will say about it and, quite possibly, how much trouble I would be in, from him.


	12. Whatever It Takes

**I own nothing to do with Twilight. Never, ever will.**

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**I apologize for taking so long to update. I got into a bit of a funk after everything that happened, and felt like I couldn't write or even think of anything at all! I sincerely apologize if this chapter is really really bad! I admit I was scared off writing on here again after what happened!**

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**Hope you will enjoy this chapter! It is about to get crazy, hope you all are braced in for the ride! :) x**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>_

"So, uhm." Jacob swallows, very loudly, after pulling into the driveway. "I was wondering. Could I maybe, uh, kiss you goodbye?"

I laugh out-loud, a little breathlessly, because even having him asking for my permission to kiss me, is just ridiculous to me. "Jacob, you _really_ don't have to ask for my permission to kiss me. I, um, I want you to."

We both crack up laughing together, both strung out with nerves.

Only, it was true. I found I did want him to kiss me, unlike how I felt with Edward the night before when he literally was pleading for a kiss goodnight from me. Oddly enough, with Jacob, I found there was not one single resistant cell in my body over it.

Alice definitely had done me a good service this morning after sleeping over last night; Just as she swore last night, I became irresistable to Jacob, all at a swiping of mascara, some dabs of bright red lipstick, and a swoosh of eyeliner around the rims of my eyelids. At lunchtime, I ran into him in the overcrowded hallway while heading towards the locker bay to stow my books away inside my locker.

He couldn't seem to stop grinning at me, or even stare; I think it was mainly due to what Alice did to my face in the morning, though.

We talked for a bit, then he asked if I wanted a lift home from school when the day was finished. Who was I to resist? Truthfully, I wanted to spend as much time alone with Jacob as possible. I felt I really like him. He was not only cute- with such an infectious smile to die for- but he was also pretty funny. Which, in all things considered, brought us here. To him dropping me off home.

To him asking if it would be alright to kiss me.

It all happens very slowly- he slides an arm over the console, grips me gently by my shoulder with his hand, and starts to lean in. Halfway over, I inhale deeply. His wholesome scent washes over me. His skin smells a bit like old sweat from training today at the hurdles on the school grounds, but his ruffled white school shirt smells freshly laundered and clean.

"Are you sure, though?" he whispers. His other hand comes up to brush a few stray hairs back behind my earlobe. "I don't want to seem too pushy. I just feel I really like you, Bella. I want to get to know you some more. If I'm going too fast, you can tell me to back right off. I honestly won't mind."

Him saying that, was like a breathe of fresh air to me. Still, I wasn't going to push him away, or tell him to stop. Because, I wanted it too. My breath hitches in my throat, as his dark eyes flit down to my mouth. It feels like I'm waiting forever for the moment his mouth comes into contact with mine, when... really, it can't have been a little over a few seconds.

I brush my tongue over my lips to moisten them up for him a bit, and then, I'm staring right at that parted mouth of his, waiting on pins and needles for it to finally happen. I'm dying to feel his mouth on mine, to experience something different. My first and proper actual kiss, with a boy I actually seem to really like.

And, a moment later, it does happen.

For the briefest second, he was just breathing, harder than usual- which told me he was just as anxious over it happening, as I was- his hot, sticky breaths fanning over the bottom of my chin.

He inclines his head a fraction, until I feel his mouth brush against my own. My eyes flitter closed of their own accord, as his top lip pulls and tugs gently on my bottom one. Adrenaline is spiking through my entire body, and my heart is racing like a wild, uncontrollable thing in my chest, as I push myself a little into it.

I open my mouth a bit, let my lips mash gently into his warm, chapped ones. I don't think anything could ever make me ever possibly feel this good, as experiencing your first kiss. It felt really amazing to me, it felt right. Only, it didn't last as long as I had hoped it would, because...

_THUMP!_

With a startled groan, Jacob pulls away immediately and rakes his fingers through his close-cropped, silky looking hair. He reddens just the slightest bit underneath his tan cheeks, and I think mine are already doing the same.

I'm feeling absolutely flustered, and hot. My whole body feels it is blistering.

"Bella, did you hear that?" Jacob whispers, straightening out the mirror to look behind his car at where the thudding sound erupted from. "Is someone home? Your parents, maybe? Oh, god. Do you think they saw me kiss you? Would they be angry?"

My stomach plummets over the casual way he has put my parent's into the question. It is completely unexpected, and yet also pierces with me a twang of deep sadness inside.

I didn't tell him- at least, not yet anyway, because I didn't feel I knew him quite enough that I would just start blurting out personal things, like my parent's deaths, to him. I don't know why him saying that hurts me, it just does. But, it isn't like he did it on purpose, of course. He really doesn't know that it is still a raw subject for me.

Jacob blinks at something in the mirror. "Who's that? Is he your older brother or something?"

_Oh, god. Oh Jesus._

I puff out an exhale through my lips unevenly, as I peer through the mirror, too. I frown, thoroughly awash with embarrassment and worry.

Because, it is _him_.

I wasn't even sure whether he was home or not. I never saw his car in the driveway, after all, so I just assumed he wasn't yet. How wrong I was.

He meets my gaze through the side mirror, and I struggle to hold it, on-edge and anxious. His gaze is burning, and unapologetic. Boy, it feels like he can stare straight through the layers of my skin unnervingly sometimes.

He sucks in his cheeks and pushes off the back of Jacob's car, until I lose his reflection entirely. He comes over my side. My head is pounding. My ears feel overheated at being caught out kissing the way we had, in his car.

He makes a spinning hand gesture, motioning for me to wind down the window on my side. I try to flatten down the back of my hair, make certain I don't seem to hot and bothered over it.

"I've got this," I breathe out to Jacob, managing to find my voice again. I send a pleading look his way. "Please don't let him scare you, or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. He's my step-brother, and he is weird, so I just want you to know that in advance."

"Weird?" Jake frowns. "In what way?" I open my mouth, about to answer. Only, I can't seem to get that far.

Edward pounds on the top of my door another time to get my attention. The knocking alone sounds very impatient, and anxious.

"Goddamn it," I whisper to myself flatly, before swivelling in my seat. I crank open the stiff window on my side, and he leans down, level to my face, to look in between the pair of us.

I swallow dryly. Jacob's hand is still resting on my knee. He still hasn't taken it off.

I peer up at him unwillingly. Sure enough, Edward has already observed the hand embracing my knee. His eyes are bleak somewhat, and his mouth is curved downwards over it.

"What is going on in here?" he asks a moment later, his voice soft and suspicious. "Is everything all right?"

I find it kind of, sort of, hard to believe he doesn't know. Knowing him, he has most likely probably seen the whole kissing incident between us. How could he not have seen it? Because, it was just who he was. Observant, whenever it comes to me... watching me, _always_ watching.

I turn in my seat a bit more to face him, only I can't seem to look him straight in the eye. I wrap my arms over myself self-consciously over the look he has for me, while he runs them over my face, searching for it with his eyes.

"What, Edward?" I snap irritably, when he just stands there crouched over my window... staring in and saying... all to nothing. "I don't have to explain myself to you. But, fine, since you really want to know. This is Jacob. I like him, and maybe I want to be his girlfriend one day. Is that enough for you?"

I feel a deep flare of guilt, when I see what comes over his face at my heated outburst. He looks disbelieving, and torn, even.

"Oh, well," he manages, his voice softening with surprise. "Good for you."

Huh? That's it? No getting angry and telling me I can't date anyone? Well, isn't that a change. And, a welcome one at that.

"Thanks." My voice is marred with sarcasm. "Like your approval means so much to me."

I turn in my seat, frustrated and high on rebellion. I want to show him that he is not the boss of me, he is not in control of me, ever. Without another single look or word to him, I grab Jake by the loose collar of his school shirt. I pull him in forcefully, and throw my mouth on his again.

And, I think I have finally made it clear on Edward that I do not like him in anyway _whatsoever_, and that he creeps me out a little, because... I hear him walk away at once, his shoes scuffling against the pavement.

I press myself into making out with Jacob a little more enthusiastically this time, because I'm left feeling good. Happy. Relieved. And, after a second of stunned moaning into my mouth, Jacob eagerly gets back into it, too.

"Oh, um, all right," he pants uncertainly, into me, "Don't get me wrong, I like you, too. But..." I inhale in his breaths, "Aren't we taking this a little bit too fast here? I don't want to rush you into anything..."

Suddenly, the door on my side cranks open. I'm being unbuckled and, before I know it, I'm being grasped at by the waist, my lips are being disengaged from Jake's, and I'm being slung over someone's shoulder.

I squeal loudly in shock, when a hand comes up over my dangling legs. A palm dives into my jeaned backside, slapping my buttocks painfully, and my cheeks burn.

"Put me down, now." I'm sending my fists into his back loudly. "For godsake, put me down right now, asshole! Why are you ruining this for me? I like Jacob!"

"Bella, keep your voice down," he mutters, sternly, from somewhere over me. "And cut it with the language!"

_Oh, my god. He cannot seriously be doing this? What the hell is his problem?_ He starts walking away from Jacob's car. The door is left wide-open.

"Jake!" I squeal out to him, my whole body quivering. "Jake, help!"

"Stop it," Edward snaps. I'm being taken further and further away from his car. I think Edward is leading me into the house, the one place I don't want to be alone with him right now.

I slam my fists into the back of his thighs, and he jerks and grunts.

"Put me down, Edward," I scream, wiggling around on his shoulder. I kick my feet, I hit every part of his back with my fists I can manage. "How dare you do this to me? _Why_ are you doing this?"

He shoots another slap into my jean-covered backside, less as painful as the last. I start to cry; I can't seem to help it.

"You have _no_ right," I whimper out, bouncing on his shoulder. "You're not my parent! You have no right to treat me this way!"

"Well, you're acting like a child," he hisses back at me. "You want to act like a disobedient, careless child, then I'll start treating you like one."

"I'll tell on you, I'll tell _everyone_ how you're treating me!" I spit out breathlessly. He stops at what I'm assuming is the front door- I can't be sure. "How unfair you are with me! How weird you are, and how you ask me to do inappropriate things, like kiss you! You'll be arrested when I do!"

He snorts, then lets out a breathy laugh, tinged with bitterness. "You can do whatever you want, but really, it's not in your best interest, believe me."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, not really, no." He yanks open the fly-screen door. I almost get hit in the face with it, if I hadn't ducked out of the way just in time. "I'm just being realistic here. You tell them everything I say and do, and who knows where you will end up?"

My eyes widen at his words. I'm blinking back tears.

"If you want them to take you away, put you into foster care, then by all means, you go right ahead." The soft words are coming out fast from his mouth. "Though, I can't guarantee your new family will treat you as well as I do. Who knows what they'll do to you?"

"Oh, please." I sound short of breath, as he carries me along through the hallway. "They would treat me _ten times_ as better as you do right now!"

"Maybe," he mumbles, indifferently, "But, at least, you're here, staying in the family home. Think of our parent's. Would they really want us separated this way?"

Before I know it, he is storming up the staircase, carrying me along with him. I manage a few walloping punches into his sides. He groans in pain from the blows, takes the left end of the narrow hallway, and goes bursting through the door of my bedroom.

"Please," I beg, tear-striken.

He flings me onto the spongy mattress of my bed without hesitation. The impact didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, thankfully. I climb up onto my knees, pull my hair out of my eyes. He stands over me, breathing harshly, exhausted from having both carried me to the house, and up the flight of stairs.

"You have to stop this _right now_," he whispers, aggressively. "Everything! It hurts me, and I want it all to stop _this_ instance!"

"Want what to stop?" I squeeze out, through clenched teeth. "What am I even doing? _Nothing_! I am not doing _anything_ to you!"

He moves closer to where I'm perched on my bed, so abruptly, it sends me wincing. He is still breathing very loudly. It is about the only thing I can hear in the room.

"You _are_!" It comes out of his mouth absolutely flat. Like the words are choking him somehow. He pants raggedly; his mouth twisted in pain. "You're doing it on purpose, aren't you? You're doing it to hurt me, I know you are! You didn't call me when you stayed over at Alice's, you left me worried sick! And now, I find you outside, fooling around in some creeps car!"

I blink up at him, bewildered. "Is that what you think? That I'm deliberately trying to hurt you for some reason? Because, you're wrong! This isn't even about you at all! Oh, and you want to talk about creeps? _You're_ the creep here!"

"Yes, it is, it _is_ about me. You are so." _What?_

"No, I'm not! I don't even know what you're saying!"

"You are!" He comes at me. One of his hands find their way into my hair, and he tugs and pulls, hard and painful. I grab onto his hand, manage to pluck it off. My fingernails dig and cut into his skin. He pulls his hand back with a moan, holds it into his chest. "You don't think I know what you're doing?"

_Oh my god. What is he accusing me of here?_

"I'm not doing_ anything, _Edward." I toss my head, trembling violently. "I think it's all inside your head! You're imagining things!"

"No, I'm not." The soft moan, is barely audible. "I'm not. You're trying to get back at me by being with him, I know it!" A strangled sob clatters through him.

"Edward, I like Jacob." I try to tell him, slowly and calmly as possible. I don't think he is capable of being reasonable at all- especially not with how he just acted! "And, I am not doing this to deliberately hurt you, at all. I will never see you in the way that you apparently see me. I know it isn't what you want to hear from me, but it is _the truth_!"

"No." He has gone back to murmuring to himself again. "No, no. It isn't true. It's not true. It'll never be true."

"Edward," I start softly, pleadingly, through his mutterings, "Please, you're scaring me by acting like this! _Please_!"

"Fine." He sniffles loudly. I can tell he is trying to keep himself under control. I think he may very well be on the verge of breaking down entirely. "Fine. Why don't you like me, though? Why _him_? Why not me?" His voice is shaking.

It breaks my heart, it honestly does.

"Just tell me." He is pleading with me. "Just tell me, how can I be more like him, then? I'll do whatever you want me to do, I swear. Whatever it takes, to get you to like me like you do with him, I swear I will!"

Oh my god. _Can't he get it?_

_"_Edward, there is nothing you can possibly ever do! Nothing! I'm sorry, but... it... it's just the way it is!"

He slumps forward, breathing loudly, covering his face in his hands. And then, agonizingly, he starts to cry. Loudly, and uncontrollably, into his hands. It breaks me, tears me into two. But there was just nothing I could do. How many times would I have to tell him, over and over, that I could never like him? It is draining, exhausting...

Unnerving.

I hadn't really ever seen him cry before. Not even because of our parent's deaths. And, it was all the more unnerving to witness it right now. Because, I simply did not know what to do. Was I meant to reach out and try to comfort him in some way? I don't know what. So, I am reduced to simply sitting there on my bed, watching and feeling completely sad and wretched with myself, because of it.

After a long and painful moment of sobbing, he falls eeirily silent, and closes his eyes. Tears run down his pale cheeks. He is trembling violently over his little outburst.

Still, I don't know what to do. I have no idea how to help him. And, because of it, I'm very near to tears myself.

"Please," he breathes out, desperately. "I'll do anything you want. _Anything_."

Reopening his eyes, he comes forward slowly to me. Both of his hands find their way into my hair again, and my eyes close in preparation for the painful pulling of strands to be endured again. Only, it doesn't come. His hands are gentle and delicate, resting there.

He looks deeply into my eyes, his wet and shining in tears; Hurt, and begging.

And still, I have to say it all over again...

"Edward," I cry out weakly, "Please, _stop_. You can't do anything to change it. Please understand it. My feelings will never change for you."

Slipping up onto the bed on his knees, he starts to crawl over me. I lift up my hands and hold them tightly over his upper arms to cease his movement. He does, and glares down at me, hurt. His breathing is ragged and hot smacking against my skin.

"Why do you keep saying that?" he whispers, sounding confused. "Everything isn't set in stone. I can make you change."

"No, you can't. How many more times am I going to have to tell you this?"

His mouth opens and twists in frustration. "I can. I will, you just have to let me." He reaches down, and runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. I feel the all-too-familiar scrunching of my face. I wince out of his touch. "Please, you just have to give me a chance in order for your feelings to change for me."

"No," I whimper, downright resistant. "No, Edward. Nothing will ever change. I don't like you in that way. Why can't you-"

My moanings of protest are barely audible for him to grasp, when he lowers his head and brings his mouth over mine.

"Please," he groans into my mouth. His arms come around me, hands digging underneath my back, pulling me up into him. He forces kisses on me a few times, rough and possessive.

I cry again, only he doesn't listen. I wriggle underneath him to get free, I kick a bit, and still... My last resort, is pulling one of my hands up and clutching my fingers into the short hairs on his scalp, hard. I pull a bit, twisting, and the frustrated hiss he gives out, is very loud. He opens his eyes and pulls back, glaring down at me.

His look is disapproving, and wary, as he pulls my hand out of his hair and holds it. He brings my hand over to his face, presses the back of my hand over his lips. He just doesn't understand at all.

"Why do you pull my hair so hard?" he whispers, agitated. He rubs a hand over his face, frowning deeply. "I'm trying to kiss you, and then you hurt me! _Why_ are you doing that? I'm _trying_ to kiss you!"

_He seriously is blind! Insane! Delusional!_

"I don't want you to kiss me," I say up to him, just as loud as he is speaking. "I don't want any of it! But you won't listen! Can you get off me now?"

"Bella, I'm trying here. I'm trying to show you how I can be for you, please. I'm trying to show you I can be just as good as him!" His eyes glint over in dispair. "I just want you to realize that things _can_ change." He gives out a raggedly hopeless sigh. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I just want you to know."

"Know what? You're not trying to hurt me, and yet you're going to force yourself onto me?"

"I'm not forcing myself onto you," he says, through gritted teeth. "I'm just trying to show you that I love you! I wasn't going to force anything!"

"You just did!" I scream. I try to push him off, but he is just far too strong physically. "Get off me! Get away from me! _Get off_!"

He slides away from me, and as I go to stand, he yanks me back down gently by the arm. "I'll show you," he threatens quietly into my ear, determination in his hushed tone.

I wrench my forearm free from his grasp, and run out of my room, leaving him there doing god-knows-what on my bed. My lips purse in tight-lipped anger. I know a way to stop all of this for good. I just don't know how, or where, to even start.


	13. Disrupting the Natural Order

**Hey lovelies!**  
><strong>So sorry it took me so long to update. Had to go to the dentist- my greastest fear lol- where they gave me a syringe and pulled my wisdom teeth out, so I was in agonizing pain for over a week and could barely do anything. I want to thank you all so much for your support, and reviews. I am so incredibly inspired by you all! I'm so shocked you all seem to like this twisted little story!<strong>

** Love you all, and, hope you enjoy this chapter! As for me, I'll go run and hide, anxious as always!**

**Also, my Author note was deleted by admins (My fault for disobeying regulations in here on the first place). My apologies for it.**

**P.S: I am so so sorry about this chapter! :( Hope you won't hate me for how lousy it is! :'( This is me dosed with pain meds for my toothache- not that it's any excuse lol- but please, go easy on me. See you all next update (Again, I truly apologize for keeping you all waiting!)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

I slide my pencil in between the page of the textbook so it keeps my place, and stretch out my arms. My arms crackle loudly from lack of activity, aside from sitting down for over two hours straight, completing a Chemistry assignment.

I wasn't doing this for him. I wasn't doing it because he told me so, or because he truly did hold some level of tight influence over me.

I was doing it for _myself_, that was _purely_ it.

I lean back in my desk chair, and peer over at my alarm clock. Six-fifteen. No wonder my stomach keeps making funny noises, when I try to concentrate on writing.

I decide to have a break, and get myself a diet coke as a well-deserved treat. But then again, I was conflicted... I sunk my lower teeth into my top lip, and bit down, hard as I could manage.

Ever since what happened with Edward, the way he reacted insanely over Jacob and I kissing in Jake's car, the way he was being so ridiculous with his outrageous accusations and, most of all, the way he forced himself onto me and tried to coerce me into kissing him back, I was keenly avoiding him, to say the least.

To him, I was probably just being a "good girl" in his eyes by staying in my bedroom for lengthy hours of time, studying. But truthfully, deep down inside, I was ignoring him- and was also going to extreme lengths to make sure we did not cross paths in the same room again.

His strained words, I constantly seemed to replay inside my head, over and over, like a videotape:

_"I'll show you..."_

Still, I didn't quite know what he meant by that. And, frankly, I didn't want to waste precious time on dwelling, either.

Parts of me, buried deep inside, felt a little sad for him, because he was so upset, and he was crying so strongly. Other parts, just made me feel even more conscious and wary of him- which I should be.

Throughout my restless thinking, I realize my eyes have started watering over. And then, I immediately understand why. There is pain searing through the skin above my upper lip. I release it from my teeth, bring my fingers up quickly to press over it, then peer down at my fingers curiously. Sure enough, there is a small smear of red blood on my fingers. I didn't know I bit it that hard. How silly of me.

"Oh, shit," I spit out, to no one in particular. I fling myself off my study chair and rush straight over to the mirror above my dresser to inspect it. Great, now I'll have a few teeth marks on my lip, once it heals and scabs over. Very suave, Bella.

I lean closer into my reflection, pop my forefinger into my mouth to wet it with saliva, then draw it out and press it into my sore skin. It stings a bit, sending me hissing, but at least it's not totally unbearable.

"What happened?"

I gasp, and let out a very loud moan, when his voice sounds from my bedroom door. I turn to look at him to find he is standing there on a lean, one shoulder propping against the doorframe to keep him balanced, his eyes running up and down my face, assessing it.

Immediately, I'm left feeling shy and embarrassed. I cup my mouth with my right hand, covering over it, and hiss into it, "Nothing, Edward. Get out of my room, please. Thank you."

I already knew I was getting my hopes up on that. He laughs and pushes off the wall with a foot, coming at me slowly, and casually. His eyes are burning into my own, and then, once he is standing right near me, looming over me with his height, he reaches up, slips a long pinky finger through my own, and tugs my hand down and away forcefully from my mouth.

My cheeks are burning, and I so so want to cover my lip again, only it's too late. He is already staring right down at it, his mouth popping wide open in amusement. He laughs again, before bringing his eyes back to mine again.

"What have you done to yourself?" His voice is teasing, only it doesn't have the desired effect he was probably aiming for. It makes me ill. Everything about him does, though. "Is it wrong of me to still find you incredibly beautiful, even with blood on your lip? Looking right at it just makes me want to lick it off with my tongue, surprisingly."

My face blanches at his sick words. My eyes widen at his face, while he stares down at me unapologetically.

"You are disgusting," I groan, and put all my effort into wacking him one on the shoulder. He gasps loudly, and chuckles again, like I'm playing with him. My knuckles throb gently after the hit into his warm fabric-covered shoulderblade, and I open and close my hand, flexing my fingers.

"How am I disgusting?" He blinks, confused.

"Because, what you said, is just gross!" I stare up at him, my blood boiling. "Who says something, like that? Next time, why don't you keep all your gross desires to yourself and spare me the nausea?"

"Oh, you are such a fighter, aren't you?" he whispers, softly. "I hope you know that, one day, you'll give in and realize what I've been telling you all along." His expression is very grave, and serious. I can't help but laugh.

"You really need to stop!" I cringe, when he ducks down and peers into my eyes deeply. "Besides, what will I actually realize? What I already know? That you're a creep?"

"No." He leans in until his mouth is halfway from my nose. His hands come up to close over the top of my shoulders, holding me forcefully still. "You'll realize, that what I said about wanting to lick your blood off, was true," he finishes vastly underneath my struggles and shoulder-wiggles.

"No," I cry out in disgust but, a second later, it's already too late. My eyes scrunch closed and I'm moaning through my teeth, when his tongue prods into my lip- wet and slippery, and warm- amplifying the stinging to ten hundred percent.

Once the feeling is gone, he makes a loud sucking noise with his mouth.

And then, right on cue... the doorbell rings. His hands slip off my shoulders, as he heads downstairs to answer it. I'm reeling, wiping and wiping, over and over, the leftovers of his wet saliva on my lip.

I'm surpised, and a little bit disgusted, to find that I still want my diet coke. It didn't put me off anything at all. Eck.

Halfway down the stairs, I hear them.

Edward is talking to someone, in a very low, quiet voice, like he doesn't particularly want to risk the chance of being overheard. I pause for a moment on the second last step, craning my neck, trying to eavesdrop. The only thing I hear, or learn of, a second later, is that he has a girl around. She is speaking to him in an equally soft, and low voice.

My blood is boiling, yet again. Why is it fine for Edward to have girl's over, and yet, with me, I'm not allowed to have neither boys or girl friend's over,_ at all_, otherwise he would get funny about it. It was so unfair. So hypocritical of him.

And _so_ pissing me off.

I tread loudly into the kitchen, trying to make my noises as loud and interfering as possible. My feet are slapping against the hardwood floor, my hands are balled up into tight fists, and I'm scowling. Thankfully, it works, because a ripple of wary silence immediately falls between the pair when I storm into the kitchen towards the refridgerator.

I don't know what it is about long-haired blonds and Edward, but she's it. Another blond. Another ridiculously pretty, tall blond, with dark brown eyes and equally as dark eyebrows. That makes me realize she isn't even a natural blond, she's a fake blond, and that satisfies me in some wicked way.

They are sitting at the kitchen table, chairs close, elbows a width apart, and almost touching. I toss my head violently. So, so unfair. I ought to do the same thing that he did with Jacob. I ought to ruin this for him!

I wrench open the fridge, pull myself out a freezing diet coke. I press the alluminium can into one of my blistering cheeks, as I look around for any more snacks I could take back upstairs with me.

I hear the girl whistle through her teeth. Why, I haven't the faintest idea.

"Wow, Edward," she laughs, in a sickly sweet voice, "You didn't tell me your little sister was _so_ cute! She's grown up so fast, hasn't she?"

I turn to throw a hard look at her.

If there's one thing I hate, it's people talking about me as though I'm not in the room to hear it. That really ticks me off.

I shift my eyes over to meet Edward's, asking with them, what this girl's deal was. I find that he is already staring at me- or, a _part_ of me, anyway- concentrating hard. His eyes are on my bare feet, my polished bright toenails that Alice decorated for me, and I catch him tongue his lips slowly. Then, his eyes flicker back up to meet mine.

"Uhm, Bella." His voice is husky. "This is a close friend of mine. Her name is Rosalie." He scratches his forehead with his fingers.

"Sure, she is just a close friend." The words are out before I can even manage to stop myself. At then, I notice this Rosalie girl bite down on her lip, glancing between the two of us, giggling anxiously.

"Uh, it's true, Bella." She gives me a look that tells me she thinks I'm super weird. "I am just a friend of Edward's."

"Well, that's mighty good," I laugh, sarcastically. "Oh, did Edward happen to tell you how much of a control-freak he is?" I start, extra bright and sweet. Edward coughs loudly. I think he's telling me to stop, but I don't care. She needs to know. And, as for me, I need to tell somebody. "He is the worst control-freak I have ever met! You know, he even tells me I can't date certain boys... like he cares about me, in some fucked up way, or something."

She's scrutinizing Edward now. I have her scared.

"Bella." Edward is speaking through his teeth. He is warning me.

"Oh, I'm sorry?" I gasp, like it's so rude of me, and slap a hand over my mouth. "Have I said too much? Was that, like, really inappropriate of me?"

I can see Edward is trying to keep calm, and composed. He laughs quietly to himself, but I can see through it; There is a hysterical edge to it. "Bella, please, stop it." He turns to glance over at his friend Rosalie. I can tell he is nervous, and that I've struck a raw nerve, because he looks near to breaking point. "Isabella has always had a wild imagination, ever since I've ever known her-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say again, speaking over him loudly, "That was super inappropriate of me. Oh, but hey?" I snap my fingers, pretending to remember something. "You want to hear inappropriate? Well, last night... Edward ruined my date with a boy at school that I liked by pratically carrying me all the way up into my room, throwing me down onto the bed, and then forcing himself onto me by-"

A hand slaps down onto the table heavily, and I know it's him. Suddenly, his calm and carefully composed face cracks into anger. He is almost shaking in his chair with fury, he is breathing very ragged, and his eyes are wide as saucers and crazed.

I've pushed his buttons. But really, he deserved it. Didn't he?

"-That's fucking enough!" He yells, running a trembling hand over the side of his face, before jumping to his feet. He comes at me quickly, I back away, and then this Rosalie woman is trying to get in between us.

"Hey!" She is shouting, sounding so scared and fearful. She tries to pull Edward back by the arm, only it is no use. He is so fixed on getting to me. "Edward, calm the hell down! What the hell is going on here?"

My breathing is just as loud as his, my eyes fixed solely on his face, as I dodge and weave my way out of his range. I'm clutching the can of coke so hard between my fingers, arm raised back, so I can throw it at him with all my might, if need be.

"What are you going to do?" I taunt, eyeing him wildly. "Are you going to hit me now for disobeying you?"

So suddenly, and out of nowhere, he throws his head back and laughs through his teeth at my words, bitterly. And then, he lunges at me, and I shriek. One hand clutches the side of my shirt, yanking on the material, while the other is raised, fisted, level to my face.

And then, there is a whole lot of screaming going on...

Surprisingly, not by me. Not even by him. But by his blond friend.

Rosalie grabs him by the wrist, her eyes wet with tears. "Edward, don't you dare hit her!" She screams, then breaks down crying. She gives him a loud thumping slap across the back, and he winces. "She is just a little girl!"

"Oh, don't worry! She's not even _worth_ the effort it would take to even knock some sense into her!" He mutters harshly and then, right before my very own eyes, he breaks down sobbing, just like Rosalie. My throat constricts. Only his sobs are heartwrenchingly loud animal-wails, and he clutches a hand over his chest, slumping over, like he is experiencing some kind of weird heart attack. "You are the most _cold-hearted and unresponsive_ person I have ever met!" He jabs a finger at me roughly, tears rolling down his cheeks. "_Why_ the hell are you still here, living with me in this house, if you loathe me so much? _Why_ are you _purposefully_ trying to destroy me, and cause me pain?"

He is flinging questions so loud and unrelentlessly at me, it stuns me. I wrap my arms around my stomach, and squeeze tightly to reassure myself.

"Why are you making this_ so hard_ on me?" His voice lessens, until he is whispering weakly. He looks not so much lethally angry anymore, but drained, and exhausted. "Why don't you just _go ahead_ and leave already? Because, honestly, I _wish_ you would!"

I didn't want to cry as well, but something about all of it made me depressed. I felt hot tears brim at my eyes. I felt this peculiar aching in my throat, like I wanted to either cry uncontrollably, or be sick.

But then, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, breathed in a heavy gust of air, and pressed myself onwards with determination.

If he wanted it, then fine, I would do it.

I did not know whereabouts I would go, but I had a few headers. I could stay at Alice's for a few nights maybe, until... I don't know what. Contacting my birth mother, Renee, was sadly out of the equation. I had lost contact with her over the years. I didn't even know what her new number was.

"Come on, sweetie." His female friend comes at me, interlaces her fingers through mine, gently, then tugs me along towards the stairs.

I can't seem to take my eyes off him; He just stands there, arms at his sides, helpless and intense, watching her lug me away. His face trembling, eyes fierce, and bleak, and wet, his mouth twisted in despair.

I knew then, that he didn't quite mean what he was saying about me leaving. But still, there was just no other way.

And, he was right. I would only be hurting him in the long run. I would only be inspiring whatever hopes he had. And, truthfully I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders, rendering me weightless and free, as Rosalie forced me to tread up the staircase along with her to my bedroom.

I felt relieved, in a sense. Because, once I did leave- right now- I would never have to be put into the same awkward situations with him ever again. He could no longer try to force me into kisses. I would be free to do whatever I please, see whomever I please, without feeling guilt or shame because I know he doesn't like it.

And, most especially... I _think_, it'll stop all the hurt I've caused him over his feelings for me being unrequited.

And, plus... it was either this way, or I maybe try and contact someone of a higher authority and tell them. Tell them everything; Of how he treats me, how he likes to control me, how unfair and strict he was, when in actuality, he had no right to be that way at all. I would be safer, and I wouldn't ever have to worry about him trying to force me into anything anymore. It worked out better this way. We could just not live together, in the same house, day after day. He rubs me the wrong way and, clearly, I do with him.

"Do you have a suitcase, or anything?" Rosalie asks desperately, as she bursts through my room. She looks around at an urgent pace, unsettled. "Anything, that we could pack your things in?" She starts opening my drawer, flinging out clothes and plopping them down onto my bed.

She glances over at me when she realizes I'm not moving, at all.

"Sweetie," she cries, unevenly. "I think this is for the best. Come on."

"Why?" I breathe out suspiciously. "Why are you helping me leave? What's in it for you?" My voice is accusing.

Her eyes widen at me. She pats me on the hand. "Nothing, I swear. It's just..." She takes in a deep breath, then lets it all out, exhaustedly. "I saw how he was down there. I believe you! I believed what you said, and he... he didn't even try to defend himself properly! It's sick, and he needs help!" She runs her fingers through my hair, in a motherly gesture. "You need to get out right now, before he does something serious! Before he truly hits you." She grabs me by the shoulders tightly, and shakes, like it'll help. "Promise me, you'll pack your things right away, and go before he can truly hurt you. Promise me?" Her voice is demandingly loud, and urgent.

"Okay," I whisper, to allieviate her, "I promise, I will. But I don't know where I'll go!"

"Anywhere, all right? He needs serious help!"

I find my school bag, turn it over, and tip all of the contents out. I hold it up to her, and her teary eyes soften, and she laughs gently.

"Good job. I think that'll have to do for now." She reaches out her arm, takes it from me, and starts stowing bunches of clothes inside. I still don't understand why she is helping me. But, I'll accept it and appreciate it regardless.

Once the bag is overstuffed with clothes, she struggles to zip it up fully, but manages. She turns to me.

"I have a car. Can I drive you anywhere? Do you have a friend's place to go to, until he cools off?"

"Yes." Immediately, I feel relieved at the mention that she has her car with her. "My friend, Alice. Can I give you her house address, then you'll take me there?"

"Of course, sweetie!"

I'm still staring at her warily, as she takes my arm and leads me to the stairs. She has my schoolbag slung over one shoulder, and she is looking all around the house frantically, as if frightened that Edward will make a reappearance and do something truly terrible. I still can't believe she would be so kind to do this for me.

"Thank you," I mutter quietly, for what seems like the tenth time I've said it.

A smile softens her cheeks. "Stop it. This isn't something to be thanked for."

We reach the front door easily, and without trouble. Reaching over, I pull it open for her, and then we're both at it, glancing around outside the house and into the garden, as if our life depended on it. Which, it probably did. To me, anyway. My freedom hung in the balance.

"I think we're clear," she whispers to me. I nod my agreement in silence. We start to tiptoe down the small set of stairs on the front porch. I'm looking back at the house, while Rosalie is looking straight forward. I can hear her breathing loudly. She is still so scared, and nervous to run into Edward again, and maybe I ought to have been, too.

One foot onto the yellowed grass in the yard, and Rosalie is jumping back, almost slamming into me. Her hand instantly tightens over my arm, fingers wrapping and nails digging in, as if something has caught her deeply afraid and defensive. She breathes fiercely through her teeth and, for a moment there, I'm confused.

Until, I look forward and see what has her so frightened.

_Edward._

My heart feels like it's racing a mile a minute. A cold sweat breaks out all over.

He is leaning against the bright red car I am assuming belongs to this Rosalie, his arms crossed over his chest. Oh my god. His expression is tight, watchfully determined, and his skin is pale and blotchy from crying; but his lips are curled into the most patronizingly wry smile I had ever seen on him before.

He raises his eyebrows and smiles at the pair of us. "Rosalie, I'm going to have to ask you to reconsider what you're doing. What gives you right, to come inside my home, and try to disturb the way we live, as a whole?"

**Sorry for the cliffy. And A BIG sorry if this chapter was bad, and really the worst. :( XXX**


	14. Letting Her Go

_**Hey guys!  
>Firstly, I own nothing to do with Twilight, of course! Secondly, I want to give you all a big sorry for not updating for over 3 weeks time! I have a horrible cold, and cough, so I kind of haven't been able to do anything other than rest. I apologize, so I'm hoping a new chapter will make up for it? I have a feeling it'll be one hell of a disappointing chapter, so please be kind, and please don't hate me!<strong>_

_**Love you guys lots, I'm always so humbled by your responces to this story! I'm very flattered! :) **_

_**See you next update (in a weeks time, I promise not to take so long again). Hope you all are well! x**_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>_

"Edward, just _let her_ go!" Rosalie cries, trying to get past him. Gradually, her fingers loosen around my wrist, and she's placing it all on herself to refrain him back from me. He's not giving in, easily. His hands and arms are out in front of him, constantly blocking our way towards her red car. It's almost as if this is like some sick game to him; a game where he just can't get enough.

"No!" he hisses, "You_ can't_ take her away from me. You have no permission-"

"Edward, you need to let her go so you can cool off, all right?" Rosalie is trying to be reasonable, only he is being the most unreasonable person in the world right now.

"You take her away, and I'll call the police and put you up on charges. Understand?" He threatens loudly, pointing a finger right into her face. He is breathing hoarsely, his eyes bright and crazed. "You have _no right_, Rosalie! _No right_ to do this to-" She pushes him away, arguing back, and I take swift advantage of his distraction to scramble past them to the car.

"Hey, you're not leaving!" He comes at me, fast, urgent- his icy voice the most scariest I had ever heard in my entire life, and, because of it, it sends me shivering all over. He reaches out and wrenches me into him by my elbow roughly. I do what I have to do, then.

"Edward, stop!" I yell, pushing and pulling to get my elbow free with all my might. "_Stop_ it! You have to let me go! I can't be in the same house with you anymore! Please!"

Somehow, I feel a bit like a child caught in a bitter custody battle with her arguing parents. Only, the two are not her parent's and, in some sense, one of them I feel truly sorry for.

With a defeated whimper, he lets me go by pushing me away gently.

"Fine, then." The look on his face almost kills me. I haven't ever seen him look so vulnerable, so helpless before, with teary-wet eyes and his brows pinched together in despair, but he does right now. He doesn't want me to leave- but he's pretending it doesn't concern him, either way. "You want to leave, _go_! I'm done with this!"

I tread quickly past him to the car, listening to the sound of his loud, ragged breathing. But then, yet again, he goes and does it again, having a sudden, undecided spur of heart. He grabs me by the back of my shirt, stretching the material in his effort to hold me back from hopping into her car.

"Edward, please, _stop_," I murmur, whirling around to peer up at him desperately. I feel like I am on the verge of tears, and I didn't want to be. Not in front of him. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be! Please! I think this is ultimately for the best. We just can't live in the same house together!"

I think he picks up on the high-pitched urgency in my voice, because, slowly, I feel him release me with an unevenly long sigh. "Fine," he pants, "Whatever you say."

I quickly turn and start towards the passenger side of his Rosalie friend's car, vaguely conscious all the while that he is one step behind me.

"Look, I'm sorry... I..." He stops abruptly, takes in another deep breath, then starts all over again. "I wasn't actually going to hit you in the kitchen. I'm sure I wasn't." There is both regret and aching anguish in his trembly voice. "After what happened, with our parent's, I feel like I'm kind of... losing touch with myself lately." I see the way his hands ball up into fists at his sides. They are shaking. "Everything is so stressful. I didn't mean to..." He falls silent again, at an obvious loss in explaining to me. "But, like I said... whatever you say. You want to go, then go. Maybe it's better that way, anyway? I don't know. I just wish things could have turned out... differently."

"Me too," I murmur, still not looking directly at him. I pull open the door on my side gently. "Thank you for everything, anyway."

"Yeah." His voice is as gentle as an emotionless whisper. "The funeral's coming up soon. Just thought I would let you know. Maybe this weekend, at the most. Uh, I'll... I'll call you, and let you know what's happening. We can finally manage to afford to send them off right, so that ought to ease the stress a bit hopefully. It took a few weeks to do it, but at least it's here." He looks past me, his mouth hardening into a thin hard line, and I know why. I turn to look at Rosalie, who is giving him a fierce look that says she won't be seeing him around anymore.

I nod silently, and turn to sit inside the car. He moves forward to close it gently behind me thoughtfully.

"Are you ready?" Rosalie asks, weak from the struggles of the fight once as she slips in herself, starting up the car.

"Yes, I think so. Thanks." I don't even recognize the sound of my voice. Everything was so bad. I regretted that everything ended this way. I truly wished things were different, also. I really felt then, that I actually wished I had a brother out of him. Someone, who was there for me. Someone who I could talk to, about everything, about our parent's. Someone I could retell our best memories with them with. Only, what I got instead, was someone I didn't quite know. Someone, who had made these past few weeks quite difficult and upsetting for me. I think it was very clear on me now, that we both wanted different things from one another.

I wanted a supportive friendship with the guy that was supposed to be my older step-brother. Someone I could look up to, and truly respect. Someone with whom could offer moral support in getting over this tough time. Only, what I got was... this complex situation, where he wanted more from me, and I didn't think I could ever give it to him. Tears pool in my eyes, and threaten to spill. I didn't want to be weak; I didn't want to be vulnerable, and sad at all.

But, like Edward said...it was probably better this way.

We peel out of there, onto the street, and I don't so much as give him a fleeting look out the window. I want to put it all behind me right now.

Suddenly, once we head on down the road into another street, my whole body is lifted. Free of tension. All tension, and I'm floating. For now, at least.

"Thank you, Rosalie." I'm breathless, by the time I start giving her directions to Alice's.

And, just like before, she sends me a gentle, but stern tap on the hand with her palm. "I told you, _no_ thank you is needed. _Stop it_, sweetie."

_"Still_, I mean it." And in that moment, I truly, really, did. Deeply from in the bottom of my heart, because this made things much easier to deal with. And, yes, it'll be painful to have to endure seeing him at our parent's funerals. We'll just have to act responsibly. I can't exactly avoid him at the funeral, it would be downright callous of me. But it can be done, without any type of family conflict. It _has_ to be done.

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><p>"We are here today to celebrate the life of two inspiring individuals, who sadly passed away too early. Charles Swan, whose dedication to the Forks community as Cheif Deputy to the state will always be remembered and appreciated, and his dear wife, Esme Cullen-Swan, whose selflessness and endless generosity towards the community inspired hope," The balding priest begins, and everyone immediately falls quiet in the room and takes instant notice. As for myself, I am a little distracted when I realize I can't see Edward sitting anywhere in the room. "Both have left this world tragically soon. But during their time on this earth, we can only consider it a blessing, considering their amazing achievements..."<p>

Panic sets in to my stomach, because I start to wonder if he has actually missed our parent's funeral today.

It doesn't seem plausible, though; He called me on the phone, once, while I stayed at Alice's for the week, explaining to me that the funeral was today, and that he had everything planned and paid for the day. Surely, he wouldn't have missed this for the world. I bite my lip, as I crane my neck behind me, searching, and worrying. It is with no success; I can't seem to find him anywhere, no matter how hard I look. I lean forward slowly, looking right and left at the people along the pews and, _nope_, nowhere to be found anywhere.

"...They leave, and have brought along into this world, two children whom they love deeply. Edward Cullen, from Esme's previous marriage, and Isabella Swan, who will both hold them close in their memories..."

Dragging my attention back to the stage, I almost moan loudly in relief, because, sure enough, Edward is sitting in a chair adjacent to the side of the stage. He looks nervous in his three piece suit, and green tie, tapping his shoes rythmically in an agitated way. At least, he hadn't missed their funeral, and that was all that mattered to me. I was certain he would have been distraught, if he had...

"Let their premature passings, not be a time for dwelling and sadness, but be a constant reminder to live life to the fullest, and to love one another generously." Quickly, I turn my wayward eyes from Edward and to the priest again. "Now, Esme's only son, Edward, has a speech he would like to make in honour of them. Please, all stand from your seats and remain kindly silent until his words are over."

There is faint rustle of noise, as everyone around the room briskly stands from their seats. It takes me a moment to recollect myself into standing along with them, because I hadn't the slightest idea he was going to make a speech. It makes me feel incredibly bad, because maybe I ought to have written one for them also?

Edward gets to his feet, and stands motionlessly at the microphone for several minutes, searching through the pockets of his suit jacket, while all in attendance wait patiently. He slips out a folded piece of paper, unfurls it, and leans down over the microphone. He is breathing heavily through it, as his eyes scan the entire front row of seats. When they fall onto me, they linger for several minutes, his eyes drained and empty.

It rouses a gut-clenching, heart thumping, pulse scattering sensation out of me.

"Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for coming here today to celebrate what was two lives that ended unfortunately too soon. One, of my beautiful mother, Esme, and another, of my step-sister's cherished father, Charles," he starts, his voice small and uneven. His eyes flicker up to mine again. He pauses for a moment to clear his throat."Now, while I only knew Charles for several years, I know the ways in which he inspired my mother greatly, and made her last few years on earth pleasant ones."

He pauses again, sniffling loudly into the microphone. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, and I can tell he is trying to keep strict control of his emotions in front of everyone. I remember faintly him telling me before that he didn't like to cry in front of other people, and that maybe it made him feel self-conscious whenever he did. I presumed now it must have been particularly hard for him to keep those emotions bottled up inside.

I feel an aching sadness for him standing up there all alone, trying to choke out his words, and it hits me agonizingly that I really ought to be standing up there with him, for support. They were my family, too. He is the only person I have left. Really, I should be up there with him, honouring them and his spoken words, regardless of how uncomfortable and complex our situation was right now.

I rise slowly from my seat- but it hardly seems quiet enough, when I feel every single person's eyes in the church looking at me.

I coax myself into smiling slightly, as I step forward towards the stage to join him. I have my eyes planted solely on the ground, cautious not to slip while I start treading up the small set of stairs in my dressy heels to where Edward is standing center stage. A swarm of relief warms me, when he reaches out and takes me by the hand, carefully pulling me up.

My mind is too muddled and set on other things, that... for a while there, I start to forget it is _him_ that I am reaching out to, letting him cling tightly onto my hand. But at that moment in time, him holding onto me doesn't feel quite so bad or discomforting at all.

Breathing in nervously through my nostrils, I try to position myself halfway behind Edward's shoulder, just so that I sort of fade out of people's line of eyesight. I don't much like the idea of people watching me on stage and scrutinizing my every reaction because I am the step-daughter and biological daughter to our deceased parents, even now.

Throughout the corner of my eyes, I can see the way Edward's head is tilted into my direction.

I know that he is probably surprised that I decided to join him, and I think that maybe it has even left him speechless a little bit, because he has to clear his throat again, very loudly through the microphone. I can feel my entire body shaking, from my skull downwards to my knees, but somehow he is able to go and soothe it all away magically by giving my hand a firm, but gentle squeeze with his own.

_This._ This is what I want right now.

This is all I could ever possibly want. _Support_, like we are two normal step-siblings that lean onto one another, building each other up and making one another stronger. Not any funny, concerntrated looks, or disturbing remarks. Just purely..._ this._

He raises his other hand, fingertips rubbing flat against his forehead, as he continues slowly, "But he inspired me in the same way that I am sure he did with my mother. I remember, throughout the years, asking him for advice in which he gave through selected, observantly quiet wisdom. He was never without advice, or a keen ear to listen to."

I feel my eyes run along his face, soaking everything in, while he speaks. He definitely was a good public speaker, that's for sure. A seamless liar, too, with what he declares next, which was probably the most absurdist untruth of all:

"He also presented me the gift of this young sister-like figure to me, Isabella, who was living in the house along with us, which was never easy sailing, believe me." A few people laugh sadly around us, and a stab of embarrassment and shame pierces through me. _Well, he was certainly right about that part..._ Still, I catch him smile mildly, and I think that was his purpose all along; To cheer me in some way. "She inspires me also, if not more so, than her wonderful father did. And, for that, I will be forever grateful." He turns to look at me as he says the last part, something there in his bright eyes, "To our dear parent's, we pray that you find peace above..."

Without thinking, I automatically push into his side to get to the microphone.

"And we love you, and you'll be in our hearts, forever, and ever," I manage to get out, in a quick hesitant croak.

There is another silent look exchanged between us, and then we are backing out of the way to the side of the stage while the priest starts with his farewell sermons. And, finally, I go to slip my hand free from his, folding my hands together out in front of me. He darts me a questioning look. But he should have already known, I don't particularly like him touching me, even out of an attempt at comfort.

So far, I have managed to remain composed in keeping the tears in. But once the music starts all around the room, the selection that Edward had chosen for their send-off, it gets to me the most.

I am coming undone, bawling loudly and uncontrollably, when everyone in attendance rises from their seats to bid our parent's their final farewells.

Three men in suits, a few of my father's colleagues, come to stand by his coffin with their badges pinned to their jackets; It is a sign of honour to them, I think, and of deep-seated respect to the way in which he chose to live his life working for the community all those years, as both a quietly caring father to me, as well as to Edward, and as Chief of the state.

I feel Edward wrap an arm around my waist, pulling me in tightly against his side, and my eyesight is all blurry and my heart is stuck in my aching throat, but I still am deeply thankful for the reassuring gesture, none the less.

Wiping my eyes quickly, I lean over to give him a swift, grateful peck on the cheek.

I feel his eyes burning holes into my skin as he stares down at me, probably stunned by my actions. But, by then, I've already forced myself to look away, and back down at Charlie and Esme's coffins. Apparently, it couldn't be an open casket, because the accident was very detrimental to their appearance. I sniffle loudly. Someone has been kind enough to lay white stemmed roses on each of their coffins, and I knew, despite it all, that they would have appreciated everything, and that they were looking down on us right now.

I take in a refreshingly deep, steadying breath through my mouth, bringing it all the way to the back of my lungs.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel somewhat pleased with how this has all come together; All the effort made in making our parent's funeral a beautiful, last farewell to them, is very fitting. It is a nice one, I think. And, most of all, knowing that Edward could actually act this way, not bothering to say anything or do anything disarming and off-putting, and just being able to be with him _now_, like this... in both equal measures of sadness and support, it is truly the best feeling I've ever known.

But only just as I'm getting too complacent with this newfound amiable, sort-of-siblingship between us, it is mildly ruined when I sense, as well as feel, his hand slip lower... and _lower_, gradually loosening, until his palm sits precariously close to my backside covered in my long black skirt. And, just like every other moment before it, I'm instantly hit with unease and left a reeling, bundled mess of nerves and tension.

Rather instead of even attempting to discourage him or make an embarrassing scene that anyone could see from where they were sitting, I disregard all that is him with all my might, and try to forget the simmering caution left brewing inside of me over what exactly his hands were doing, in touching me. I focus on solely what is in front of me instead; Our beautiful parents, in those coffins. The day was all for them, not for anymore drama, or concerns.

_Just for them._

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><p>After the burial has taken place, I find myself sitting and staring-off vacantly in the funeral home, while tea and biscuits are offered afterwards for all in attendance. Everything is a loud shimmer of noise; Elderly ladies honking their noses into their handkerchiefs as they blow them. People laughing fondly over some untold story of what my father did, when he was younger. I know I really should have been walking around, mingling, and indulging eagerly in their stories, and yet, I can't seem to bring myself to.<p>

As of right now, I just want to sit here, all by my lonesome, and wallow. It sounded sort of stupid, but it was just how I felt. I was in no mood to try and act excited or happy, with what anyone was telling me in rememberance, about _anything_.

Someone plops heavily into the cane chair beside me, bringing me out of my slow-minded slump.

I catch sight of the polished shoes they are wearing, while they stretch out their long legs near me, and I know it's _him_. It's impossible not to, though. He knocks his shoulder into mine gently, but I still can't bring myself to look over at him.

Everything, the whole atmosphere of the funeral, is too depressing. In some ways, I just want to curl up inside myself, and hide from everyone for weeks and weeks, until this whole entire thing passes. From _Edward_, in particular.

My nose is running yet again, and I really need a tissue. Perhaps he catches onto that too, because next thing I know, a white long hand is shooting out, and he has a plaid handkerchief scrunched up between his fingers. "Here, think you might need this," he whispers, pressing it gently into my hand.

"Thank you," I murmur tonelessly, bringing it up to my wet nose. I wipe, and then try to blow my nose into it, as gently and politely as possible, so that no one around me can hear it. He does though, of course.

"Someone let an elephant into the room," he tries to joke, lightening the atmosphere somehow. It doesn't really work all that affectively for me though, but still, I cannot hide the small pitiful smile that comes across my face over it. He was trying to make me smile, and I could appreciate that for what it's worth. I can feel him watching me, like always. "Did you like my eulogy? Do you think it did them justice?" he asks, sounding very worried. "I've never had to actually write something like that before. I feel like I messed it up."

"No." I toss my head, forcing a smile for him. "It was _very_ good." I pull my nose out of the handkercheif. "Thank you for doing it, I really appreciate it, and I _know_ that they would have, also!"

He grins widely, pleased as ever in my assessment. "Thank you," he whispers, quietly, looking as though he truly meant it.

It occurs to me as such a bittersweet surprise, that when we're not around each other in the same house together, when I don't see him as much, or have to experience any outlandish looks or remarks from him, he wasn't as dramatically unlikable as he could be.


	15. Mixed Signals

**Twilight belongs to it's rightful owner in Stephenie Meyer. I just love her characters so much.**

Hey guys,  
>I am hoping this chapter won't be a crappy one in your eyes. I'm so nervous that it is, I truly hope it isn't!<p>

I want to thank you all so much for your support, and your kind reviews! They truly make my day and I absolutely love reading them, so please keep them coming! Even if you want to vent and tell me all the ways you dislike this chapter, it's fine. My dream has always been making a story that people actually seem to like, and I'm very flattered that you all seem to, especially as I am in no way confident in my writing!

Has anyone seen the positively creepy movie Unlawful Entry? It's one of my all time favourites, with Ray Liotta as a police officer overly fixated in the wife. Little bit guilty to say I stole some of his lines for Edward in this one. ;)

As I said, hope this chapter isn't too bad. Love you guys! See you next update lovelies (in hopefully a week)! x

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Fifteen<em>**

Once everything is well and truly over, I feel like a parcel being passed around one person to the next, and the next.

Strangers come up to me, wishing me their condolences, hugging me, kissing me on the cheek, crying all over me. The flocks of attention that seem to be attracted to me, makes me feel overwhelmed and stunned. But, luckily, that attention is equally put onto Edward, who accepts everything so much more gracefully than I do. He simply smiles ruefully, nodding his thanks. Elderly ladies come kiss him, and he soaks up their attention with calm composure, while I'm left feeling like a glum, tear-striken mess half the time.

My feelings for him have changed a bit. Reluctant fact to take in, but true.

I appreciate the fact that he went through such hard effort in making our parent's funeral go-ahead and happen. For that, I would be forever thankful. For everything else, I could do without any of it.

He seems to be eyeing every single reaction from me carefully, as he approaches me. He stands by me silently, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his suit jacket, while we watch everyone slowly gather up and leave. And then, suddenly, he is throwing something casually at me that I least expect.

"Want to head out of here, and get some icecream?" He suggest's softly.

Icecream sounded more appealing than it really ought to have been for me at this moment in time. So, really, who was I to resist the opportunity of a good soothing serve of icecream?

Silently, I nod, and we are leaving the church together. While I still felt wary around him, I felt much lighter and good-spirited than I ever had in a whole. I think it was the goodness of knowing our parents finally had the beautiful funeral they deserved that did it to me. They were in the earth now, together. It sort of gave me this woeful sense of closure for them. Now, they weren't stuck in a morgue somewhere. No, now they were officially together, under the earth, where two bodies rightfully belong. I felt good to hide away this little idea inside my head, that I was closer to them now. I was on earth, they were under me, with me, always, looking up at me and smiling, and waving.

It was both a depressing and kind of poetic way to think of them, but it left me peaceful inside.

We decided to head to La Push beach- the place Charlie and Esme had taken us to a couple of times when I was younger. I would go swimming, while Edward, Charlie and Esme would all sit on the sandbank, eating their hotdogs. I used to love the beach. I used to believe that if I hid in the water long enough, it would sink me under and take me into a new magical world of creatures. In other words, pretty silly.

The icecream truck is still there ever since when we went there last, surprisingly, which had to be over a year ago.

I get a raspberry icecream, and Edward gets a peppermint one. He kindly pays, which I find myself thanking him profusely for, as well as for other things. Everything is pleasantly silent for a few minutes as we start to walk along the track where people frequently walked with their dogs, or children. A few skateboarders go whizzing past us. Edward has slipped a pair of tinted sunglasses on, even though it isn't remotely sunny today. I think I know why, though; Maybe he wants to hide his eyes? Idly, I remember the way he looked near-to-tears while making his eulogy today, then shivered. I don't think seeing someone else crying or sad is ever a nice sight to have to see.

He looks deep in thought as he walks, always a step faster than me. It kind of makes me feel like I am walking alone, rather than with him. But oddly, I don't mind it one bit.

"You walk too fast," I say loudly at him.

He lessens his pace, until I catch up. He's awfully quiet. He's not even eating his icecream, just holding it, as it melts all over his hand. It's kind of scary.

"Your icecreams melting, you know," I point out softly. He grunts inaudibly and wipes the melted icecream off his hand onto his trousers so it leaves a nice white stain. Because of his carelessness, I don't know whether to laugh or tell him off. Eitherway, I come to the same old conclusion as every other time, and that is that I don't understand him at all. He says and does things that usually people don't say or do.

The atmosphere is just too sad and eeirily quiet. I'm dying for him to break it. Hell, he can even say something strange, just so that things aren't so sad and tense. Something is just not... right. I scrutinize his face carefully, as much as I can manage. His cheeks are wet, he looks like he is grinding his teeth together, and I realize he's actually crying.

I try to put my arm around him awkwardly. "Hey, it's okay."

I want to reach out and comfort him, because I know he was there for me today. Only a second later, he makes it very clear he doesn't want my comfort.

"Please, don't," he grunts through his teeth at me loudly, the words strangled.

He jerks away from me, quickening his pace again. I guess crying makes him feel very defensive and exposed. I try not to take his reaction to heart, and just let him go on walking. He's just... hurting right now, because of our parents. It's understandable enough. I'll give him a bit of space to cool off.

It seems my patience pays off when, several minutes later he stops again and waits for me to catch up to him. I hear him sniffle loudly as he gazes out at something along the beach, and perhaps sensing my nearness to him, he starts again, albeit slower and more calm in front of me.

"Have you been in contact with him?" He throws back at me, half normal talking voice, half-wail.

I still from my walking slowly before coming to meet him side-on. "With who?"

"You know." He shrugs nonchalantly, avoiding my eyes. He looks everywhere around us, never settled on one particular place. It's a little concerning. "That boy I caught you kissing in the car that afternoon."

_Oh!_ He's asking about Jacob. I ought to have immediately known, since he is referring to him so venomously. Really, who else would he be asking about?

"Sure, I mean, I've seen him around at school a few times," I shrug, confused as to his asking why. "He knows I've been staying at Alice's, since I think she told him about it."

"Ah, yes. About that." He pauses, to glance down at me quickly. I can't see his eyes; He's still wearing his tinted sunglasses, keeping them concealed from me, which wasn't helping at all. But I can see the blotchiness of his cheeks, and I know he definitely was crying before, he just didn't want to do it in front of me. "How long are you going to keep it up for, Bella?" It takes a moment for me to gather my thoughts. He changes topic so quickly, it's never a constant flowing thing.

"I'm not sure. I don't feel quite ready coming back home yet. Everything was so messed up before, I'm afraid that if I do... things might turn out that way again." I suck the top of my icecream, swallowing down some of the creamy cold goodness.

"What was messed up about it?" he asks, aggrieved. "I was trying very hard to take care of you, like I should. I brought food, made sure you did your homework. I was trying to discipline you, and steer you along the right path so you wouldn't get hurt, just as your father would have wanted me to."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" I laugh incredulously. "Disciplining me, and trying to steer me into the right direction?"

"Yes." He takes a lick of his peppermint icecream himself with his long tongue. "What do you see it as?"

"I wouldn't call it you trying to discipline me. It was you trying to go out of your way to unhealthily control me."

I can tell he is outraged that I see it that way. He scoffs, and frowns at me. Then he shrugs, instantly adopting a careless attitude, and resumes with his slow-paced strolling. He's so confusing to understand. I can't seem to understand him at all.

"Then, I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree then."

He keeps walking, and I stare at his back, feeling like steam is bellowing out of my ears with all the pent-up frustration I feel right now.

"Edward," I start urgently, hoping for him to stop walking and be still for at least one minute so that I can explain it to him, loud and clear. When he ignores me, I stride forward, grab him by the arm and try to keep him still. It works, and he does stop walking. But he refuses to look down at me, and it's even more frustrating that he won't. "You have to understand that all I've ever wanted from you, is someone that I can look up to, as an older sibling. Someone that I can respect, and get through this difficult loss with, together. We were supposed to be a team, we were supposed to be able to lean onto each other. Only, you made it hard to be that way! You kept pushing me away, with everything you said and did, to the point where I had to get out for some space, sooner or later!"

I didn't mean to make it sound as if I had blamed him for all of it, when I was more than aware that some parts of it were my fault, as well. I acted like a child, I was deliberately argumentative with him, and I even purposefully tried to sabotage his happiness due to my unhappiness over the way he was treating me. Still, he didn't exactly help the cause.

Still refusing to so much as glance down at me, he raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Bella, I wasn't trying to drive you away," he hisses down at me in exasperation. "I was simply trying to make a point with you. Everything's not set in stone. Eventually, things _will_ change for the better." This time, he does finally look down at me for a brief and fleeting moment. "You just have to give it time to see it that way."

"Edward, I feel like I've grown up around you. You were always there, somewhere, around the house. I can't see you any other way! I know it hurts for you to hear it, but it's true." Gently, I let go of his arm and step away. "And, yes, I _do_ love you, in a way. What you did for our parents funeral, and how you were so considerate in arranging it, made me see that clearly, and I thought it was amazing! Just not in the way you're hoping for."

"See, you're doing it again," he mutters dryly, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Doing what? What_ am_ I doing?"

"You're making assumptions and basing them as fact. Everything changes and, in time, who knows? Maybe your feelings will change for me. You just need to come back home, and give me a chance here. It's all I ask of you. Just one, _single_ last chance."

"Edward, I already tried," I say irritatedly, "I wanted things to work out between us so badly. I wanted us to be able to live in the same house together, the same house that our parent's were in. But it just didn't work."

"Then, I'll change," he says enthusiastically, like changing is the most easiest thing in the world. A drug addict can't change without going through withdrawal symptoms. A person can't even change what comes natural to them that easily. It just doesn't work that way. "Tell me how I should be? Just _tell me_, and I'll do it!"

"Edward, it's not that uncomplicated!" I take a needed deep breath when he stares down at me. I really wish he would take those darn sunglasses off. I can't tell what he's feeling at all. "I feel like you're always expecting more from me, and it's unfair for me to leave you hanging, for something you'll never get from me! I don't _want_ to hurt you, or add stress to your life anymore. We tried, and it didn't work out. I think we just need to have distance from one another, otherwise-"

He holds up a hand, silencing me.

"Bella, you didn't answer my question," he says, his voice low and almost an impatient growl. "What do you want from me? How should I be for you?"

"A brother," I say, simply. It's what I've always wanted from him. It's all I think I'll ever need from him. "What I ultimately want from you, is a brother. It's all I'll ever want, and all I'll ever need, from you. I want you to find a girl who likes you for you, because I'll never be that girl. I can't ever be that girl." He sighs heavily and opens his mouth, about to argue back. I get it out loudly before he can even start, "I want you to stop trying to push it, and make me feel things that never existed for you in the first place! It won't work. All it'll do, is drive me away from you again. I'm not her. I can't see you in that way, and it hurts me that you're hurting yourself in trying so hard!"

Just as I expected, the arguing begins...

"Look, I know the real reason," he starts gently, sounding so assured. "It's because you're scared! Deep down inside, you're scared to let yourself feel things for me..."

I shake my head, fiercely disagreeing. "No, Edward, it's not that at all."

"Yes, it is!" He disputes firmly. "It is! You're scared to open up to me, and let yourself become romantically involved, because of the way you were built-up to see me by our parents!" I can tell he's trying not to look annoyed, but the give-away is there in the way his nostrils flare. "You fear that if they were here, they would judge us. You were raised to view me as an older brother to you, and I get that. But there is no real reason to be afraid. There is no real reason why you cannot let nature take it's course and evolve into what comes next!"

"Edward, I don't-"

"- You're scared to see me as anything other than a brother-like figure, I get it." He clutches one of my arms gently with his own hand, surprising me. "But, like I said, there's no real reason to be afraid anymore. No one is going to judge us, and, if they do, then they can go to hell. We're not biologically related, just two people who grew up together in the same household and developed strong feelings for one another." I shake my head, as he says them, because he is so wrong on that. It couldn't be any further from the truth. I know my feelings, and they aren't for him. "It isn't like we're doing something morally corrupt in being together. It was simply nature taking it's course. You were raised with me in your life, as some type of brother figure to you, but we both know there was an underlying attraction all along." He is doing a pretty impressive job of convincing me. Only, it's not as effective as I know he is hoping for, because it's not true. "Bella, you don't need pretend around me anymore. We're safe, we can stop pretending now." He strokes me on the arm with his fingers, and the desperation in his tone sends his soft voice trembling. "You can stop trying to fight me off now, and pretending." He takes in a deep breath, then let's it all out again, shaking his head. "Because, honestly, I'm tired of pretending. I just want to be with you, start having a beautiful relationship with you, and love you freely without having to suffer for it anymore. We've fought it long enough, and it isn't winning out, don't you agree?"

He stares at me, waiting for my reply, and I thank God now that he is wearing sunglasses shielding his eyes so that I don't have to endure the uneasiness of looking into them. He was wrong- at least concerning where my feelings stood with him, anyhow.

"You can try to deny it all you want, but you have to stop sending me all these mixed messages, Bella," he continues despairingly. Wait- my head is reeling._ Mixed messages, what is he-?_ "I don't know what to think, and it's doing my head in, half the time. You pretend to be so indifferent towards me, and it's almost heartbreakingly convincing half the time. But I'm not going to believe it anymore, Bella. " He slaps his hand, palm flat, against the side of his forehead. "All these messages you're sending me, I know what they truly mean..."

"What messages, exactly?" I whisper, trying to reign all my building temper and frustration in. "I'm trying to _tell you_ how I honest-to-godly feel, I've been telling you _all along_ how I feel and trying to get you to listen, and you're turning it all around on me again!"

"Oh, come on. You're telling me it's undeliberate, all the signals you're sending me, because you truly feel that indifferent and resistant towards me?" I can hear the derision loud and clear in his voice. "I don't see it! I _honestly_ can't, because I know for a fact that you cannot be that good of a liar!" He stops talking for all of a minute, breathing loudly. It gives me a good opportunity to think his words through. Even still, I cannot grasp what he is talking about. Mixed messages? It makes no sense, when I've been so candid on letting him know the lack of feelings I have for him. "Even at the funeral, you couldn't resist me!" The words come out a singing taunt on his tongue. "You kissed me, _the most_ obvious sign!"

"It was a harmless kiss of gratitude on the cheek," I inform him dismissively. End of story.

"I've noticed the way you look at me, all throughout the years! And when I looked back at you, you would constantly get all flustered and pretend you weren't staring. You would turn red whenever you caught me watching you. And then, you would make this cute smile, like you were enjoying all the attention I was giving you all the time. Don't you see that I've paid a lot of attention? I _know_ when feelings are there, and when they aren't, I'm very intuitive!"

_Well, clearly not intuitive enough!_

My mouth dries as I try troublesomely to disgest all of his words. He simply gazes down at me, breathing loudly through his nose. Okay, so, he made some things very clear on me now. He assumed I was leading him on throughout the years- but I wasn't. How can a young girl lead an older person on? It just doesn't make any sense.

"All right," I sigh resignedly, after a while, "so I admit, I felt embarrassed whenever I caught you staring at me, because I found it skin-crawlingly strange!"

"Plus, there were certain things that happened back then, that I had not a single doubt in my mindwhatsoever that the attraction I felt for you was mutual," he goes on loudly, as if he hadn't even heard me speaking. "Do you remember that one time in summer when I was outside mowing the lawns in the backyard for my mother, and I looked up into your window and you were dancing around your room, while your curtains were open. Remember that?"

"Yes," I nod slowly, instantly recalling that disturbing moment as it flashed through my mind almost vividly. "I was listening to my Ipod that day and I realized you were watching me dancing through the window, so I stopped straight away."

It was quite the mortifying thing for me; I was fifteen then, being a silly girl in my room, in dancing like a lunatic to the music blaring out of my headphones.

It seemed such a harmless, mindless thing to do at the time. I was bored out of my brain sitting there in my room on a hot day, because I couldn't stand the idea of heading out into the sun and enduring painful sunburn since my fair skin has the unfair tendency of burning easily. I was curled on my bed, sweating and feeling sluggish, in my cut-off stripey rainbow shorts and tank top.

I thought a bout of sudden energetic activity would bring me out of it, so I leaped to my feet, swirling around on my toes, humming along. The window was open, the light breeze of humid air blowing my curtains to and fro. About two minutes in, I realized I had an unwanted spectator outside in Edward, and the instance I saw him standing out there in the backyard, looking up at me with almost avid attention while he worked at mowing the long strands of yellowed dry grass that had overgrown in our yard, I had flushed and turned away, dramatically stopping what I was doing right at once.

After that, I was so strung-out with nerves on having to run into him in the house again, in case he said something to me about it, and made fun of my ridiculous moves. Only, my worries turned out to be in vain, because he never had; He never even mentioned it to me, about witnessing me standing there, dancing and flapping my long hair around over my shoulder like I was stuck in some sort of mosh-pit. He would simply just... look at me, a little differently. With a lot more wide-eyed curiosity, almost.

God, I couldn't believe he was bringing it up now. It still left me reeling.

"No, that wasn't quite the way I saw it. You were dancing for me, you were putting on a show for me," he says, sounding so laughingly convinced on that. "I can remember you were wearing shorts and a tank top that you had rolled up over your stomach to show your belly off to me. You were trying to capture my attention, weren't you?"

"No, I don't think I was," I disagree, eyeing him skeptically. Did he honestly believe that? I was just a kid, being a kid. Like I would even have the smarts to do something so cunning, back then, but I could see it there all over his face, that he so did! "It was like, fourty-eight degrees that day, Edward. _Of course_, I was wearing light clothes. It wasn't for your attention, at all."

He makes an amused grunting noise from in the back of his throat. "So, you're still going to actively deny it?"

"Yes, because it's not denial," I mutter, feeling instantly pissed-off. It felt like I was going to have to say this, over and over. And, even then, the point probably wouldn't have even gotten across to him. "It's _the truth_."

"Then, what about that other time?" He tilts his head back to look at me, his eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline in question. "Are you honestly going to say that it was a friendly gesture, rather than a deliberate one to make me fall for you?"

I still at his words, perplexed. "Which time are we talking about now?"

"There was that time when my mother told me to go help you with your math homework in your room." He pauses for a moment to lick around the cone of his ice cream at a few dribbling drops rolling down the sides from the moisture in the air around us. "I can't remember why, but you started getting annoyed with me, and demanded I leave your room. So, I thought I was being funny in trying to wrestle you."

I blink up at him, not recalling anything at all. I almost forget about my own icecream, until I feel a few cool milky drops splatter onto the back of my hand. I lift my hand up to my mouth and lick it off quickly. Unsurprisingly, I catch him watching my mouth with keen interest.

He continues on a moment later, a funny faint smile pressing up his lips, "You were trying to push me out your door, and hands were flying everywhere. I was tickling you, and you reached up, ran your fingers down my cheek, and pinched me, smiling and laughing like you'd won victory when I pretended to cry over it." It troubled me that he could remember so many things that I couldn't from when I was younger. It occured to me then, that just maybe he thought about these things a lot. I shook my head a little, feeling my belly clench up over that trail of thought. It just wasn't something I wanted to think about right now, on just how invested Edward was about all the happenings of when I was younger and carefree. "Was that not you trying to flirt with me?"

I purposefully ignore that last comment. "That's weird," I murmur, shrugging, "because I don't remember that one ever happening."

He blows air out of his mouth jaggedly, and I know it's because I've frustrated him.

"Then, let's try for more recent, shall we?"

He turns his body sideways to look me head-on, as we keep up our dawdling.

"That night I came home half drunk, you were watching me fool around with that girl I brought home." He doesn't say it like a question, he says it like he was fully aware that I did so happen to see it play out that late evening. And, the fact that he did know that I was watching embarrassed me and made me feel a tad guilty in doing so. "At first, I didn't know you were, until I heard your door close. You heard me call out your name, didn't you." Again, he states it as a knowing statement, rather than a question. It unsettles me to know he was more clued-on about that than I initially thought. "You've been so resistant with me lately, I thought perhaps the reason why, was because you realized yourself, that you're attracted to me. You're attracted to me, and you've always been all along, but it frightens you because you worry that our parent's up in heaven would look down at the pair of us in disgrace."

He pauses from his walking to peer down at me, like he's searching for the confirmation in my expression. I wasn't so much worried about what he would see there written on my face, because what he was saying, was the last thing to be true. I was more worried about how he was saying these things; With such confidence in his words, and when somebody says things like that, it makes it all more difficult to let them down and make them see the light that their bold way of thinking is not entirely true.

"But I'm _not_ attracted to you," I say curtly, trying for blunt and honest. "And, you disgust me, in the ways you look and speak to me!"

I can see it there in the way the sides of his jaw twitches, that he is not at all pleased in my honestly. He looks a little hurt, and ready to defend himself, his shoulders squaring, and I truly hated hurting him this way, but I had no other choice. Sometimes, there was no other way to get the point across, other than by being brutally honest enough that it'll hurt the other person into understanding. I shrug, and force myself to look away from him. I focus ahead of me on a group of people walking with a few children, while I lick my icecream again. I can feel him still staring at me.

"Especially right now, with how you're being. You're completely wrong about everything! You see things differently than me, I see that now. But you're still wrong, maybe it was my fault, though. You're misreading into things that never exactly existed between us."

I thought he was walking along with me, but it turned out I was wrong. There was no one even there.

I glance behind my shoulder quickly to find he is just standing there, still at the spot we previously were talking, his head tilted down towards the concrete, his hand that he has not holding the icecream pressed into his side. There is something about the way he is standing there, avoiding everyone and everything around him, that punctures a big hole of sadness through me. I honestly hate hurting him, time and time again. I can never seem to not do it, and yet, it has become neccessary for me.

Readying myself, I turn and start my way back over to him. I reach up and put my hand on his shoulder, gently pressing down; It seemed like the right thing to do. His whole tall body stiffens at my touch through the fabric of his suit, and with a quiet sigh, he removes his sunglasses and lifts his gaze up to meet mine. There is anxiety in his eyes.

"You're honestly going to be the death of me, you know that?" he mutters, but his tone isn't angry in me at all. It's somewhat tragically accepting. "If you keep on being this way, if you keep trying to hurt me like this, then I don't think I can ever possibly be happy in life. Is that what you want?" His eyes run slowly over my face critically. "You want to ruin me, and make me live a miserably long life?"

"Of course, I don't want that for you." I pat him several times on the shoulder, then remind myself to bring my hand away. I try to make my voice gentle sounding, and amiable. Less harsh than my cutting, truthful words of before. "I wish you to be happy, but in order to do that, you're just going to have to let go, and accept everything for what it is."

Unexpectedly, he lets his peppermint icecream cone fall from his hand. It splatters onto the concrete in one big green mess near his polished shoes. "I _have_ accepted it," he whispers softly, through his teeth. "_You're_ the one that isn't."

Infuriated and irritated beyond words, I peer down at his smashed icecream cone and prod it gently with the tip of my heels.

"Edward, stop," I plead, quietly. "Just be my step-brother. That's all I want from you, ever."

"Then, move back into the house with me, and I will." Great, now he's negotiating with me.

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, doubtfully. "I do that, and then everything will just happen all over again. Everything will get all messy again, and I don't think I can deal with that anymore."

"It won't even get out of hand, like before, I promise you," he says, sounding earnest, striking a very persuasive deal. "We'll start over again, and make amends somehow. I'll be better, for you."

"And you'll stop with all the looks, and comments?" I probe, uncertainly.

"Yes, I will. Whatever you want." I peer up at him quickly, searching for it in his expression. He stares down at me, meeting my eyes and never avoiding, and the seriousness on his entire face is one that I cannot question.

"Okay, then," I give in reluctantly, holding out my hand. "We have a bargain, but the second something happens, I'm out for good and living together will never work. Deal?"

He considers in silence for a moment, staring down at my extended hand. Then, he nods slowly and grips my hand with his own.

"Deal," he whispers. "My darling step-sister," he adds, in a distinctively teasing manner, tightening his clasp on my hand so much, that it starts to ache. He only lets my hand go when I make an audible whimper, and starts walking again, his back to me. Flexing my fingers and grimacing over the pain, I realize I don't quite know what this means for us, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

At any time, I could decide to leave again, and he seemed truly upset the first time I did it. He clearly doesn't want another repercussion, so he'll have to honour his words, and that gives me all the power here. So, if things get crazy again, he'll know where I stand in all of this. And that gave me all the power in the world.

At least, I naively assumed it did.


	16. Sharing the Pain

**Like always, I own nothing to do with Twilight. Never have, never will. **

**I want to thank you all again for your support on this story. It's totally mindblowing, and means so much to me!**

**As usual, I'm very anxious about updating and posting a chapter! I truly hope it isn't terrible! Please let me know! **

**Love you all, you all amaze me, time and time again! Right now, I'm going to go hide and retreat for a week or two for what my mind made me do lol. :D**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Sixteen<strong>_

I feel so much lighter, light as air, now that we've managed to come to a favourable agreement.

I know everything is bound to be rocky, and hard between us, with a lot of arguments along the way- just like before- but I truly want us to get through this. I need so deeply for us to get through this, and come out on the same page, together.

Edward walks in front of me, along the beach, after our treaty of trying our very hardest to make this work, hiding his face from me.

He stops abruptly, looking down at the beach. And then, he says, full of casual exhilaration, "I think I might actually go for a swim. You're quite welcome to join me."

I stare at him, puzzled by the sudden decision that comes on so out-of-the-blue from him. It's crazy.

If this was his idea of being spontaneous and fun, it wasn't working.

_Oh my god!_

I slap my hand over my mouth in sheer horror, when he starts toeing off his shoes onto the sand. Then, he flings off his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and bunches them up in between his hands. He flings them carelessly onto the sand, then his trousers go next. He steps out of them gracelessly and, without another look at me, he wades through the sand briskly towards the dark, unsettled water.

"Edward, _stop_!" I warn in outrage, sheilding my eyes from the breeze biting at them, "You'll get sick! You'll catch hypothermia! It's really too cold for this today!"

Blatantly ignoring me and my reasonable concerns, he pushes his way through the rolling waves, going in knee-deep.

I give up trying to push sense into him an instance later, when he dives right into the shallow water, breaking through the surface. Scared of letting my eyes off him for even a single second, I gather his funeral clothes and brush the sand marking them off with my fingers.

He stays there in the water for a very long time. Ten minutes have already passed us by, I think, and he is still messing around in there. I decide to sit down on the sand bank, always, always watching him carefully in case worst possible scenario, he drowns. With a huffed sigh, I remove my dressy heels and set them beside me, stretching out and relaxing my toes.

The sky has gradually turned overcast, a bleak grey in color, and I know it's bound to pour thick with rain sooner or later.

A few people pass me along the beach, walking their dogs. They all seem to hear Edward yelling out at me in the water, trying to beckon me in, and they exchange funny, mildly amused looks with me. It's like they're asking, _Do you know this person?_ _What kind of crazy guy goes swimming in this windy weather? _I just force a smile at them, and shrug, like I haven't the slightest idea, because really, I don't.

I don't know how Edward's mind works at all. And, deep down inside, maybe I didn't want to.

When it appears that his little free-spirited, careless whim is truly over, he swims to the shore and climbs out, standing on the sand tranquil like a wet, dripping rat in only his underwear. His hair is dark with water, weighed down and sticking flat to his scalp, as he shivers wildly. He looks very pale and painfully cold.

I climb to my feet, carefully pushing my feet back into my heels, and start treading my way down towards the shore to meet him, clutching all his clothes in one hand, and his pair of shoes in the other.

"You could have frozen to death," I murmur, eyeing him disdainfully. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, rubbing wildly. It makes all the short hairs on his scalp stick up chaotically in different directions, and I have to stifle a laugh."If you happen to catch a cold, you brought it onto yourself!"

"Yeah, you would have liked that to happen to me, wouldn't you?" His voice is quietly accusing through the gustful chilling breeze, as I finally come to meet him, at true last.

"Don't be stupid, Edward," I tell him quietly with reproach. His teeth start chattering loudly as he stares down at me searchingly. Deliberately, I force all my energy into ignoring him, and focus on shaking out his jacket. "Here, quickly. Dry yourself." I hand it to him, which he accepts at once, and look away, along the shore, while he uses his jacket to wipe his face and arms with.

"I'm not ready to leave just yet. Let's sit for a while," he says underneath his breath. I turn back to look at him, pursing my lips, trying not to say anything in protest, when he bends down to lay his jacket out into the sand. He turns, and plops down onto it, folding his arms over his knees.

This is crazy, and if he keeps it up, he is seriously going to catch a severe flu. But observing him quietly as he sits there, absorbed, looking out at the sea, I decide maybe it isn't such a bad thing to just sit and relax, and take our time for a while, anyway. Still, I don't quite like the idea of him getting sick.

I pull his shirt free from his trousers, and bend down to drape it over his damp trembling shoulders, patting the soft white cotton gently into his clammy shoulders and back. The shirt seems to soak up all the salty moisture instantly, and for that, at least, I am very thankful.

"Sit with me," he says quietly after a moment. There's a bit of soft pleading in his voice.

Still not looking at me, he scoots over a bit, so I can share some of his jacket with him, rather than having to sit on the sand and ruin my skirt. Carefully, I sit down near him, crossing my ankles. Our elbows are touching, his damp arm glueing to my dry skin, but I try not to be so aware of that, and just let everything be, for a little while.

Unconsciously, he leans into me a bit, for warmth. His shivering vibrates through me. I try not to care or think too much about that, either.

Everything is a good and peaceful thoughtful quiet between us for a few minutes, until I decide to break it.

"Why haven't you found a nice girl who likes you to settle down with yet?" I ask.

He looks over at me, slowly reaches over, and presses his wet hand on top of mine. He shrugs. "I already have."

I glance nervously down at his hand covering over mine. "No, that's not quite what I mean..."

He looks oddly at me for a few minutes in silence, like he is internally struggling inside. "What did you mean by it, then?" he asks eventually.

An icy chill trickles through my veins, and I shudder. I know he automatically assumes it is due to the cool breeze, and my shoulders stiffen and tense up when he slips his arm around them, pulling me into his side, trying to warm me up a bit.

"What I mean is that... you have _so_ much pontential. I mean, sure... you say some strange things, but you're not half bad looking. I'm sure girl's would be interested. Why is it so hard for you to find a girl you can actually love, and who will love you in return?"

He shifts around a bit, digging his feet deeper into the sand, and I think it's because my questions are making him uncomfortable. "I tried. I've tried, time and time again, only it was no use," he says, with a sardonic edge. Then, he continues softly, "Don't you think I tried my very hardest with Rosalie that day?"

"Rosalie," I whisper out, stunned. _Of course,_ I knew she wasn't just a friend.

"Maybe I wanted things to develop between us, but, naturally, things never went that way, and you know that for a fact." Tension is radiating off of him. "It is just too... difficult for me to even consider being in a serious relationship with someone else, other than you. I have liked you for so long... but, of course, I couldn't really do anything about it because you were too young, except for... just trying to be around you."

I run my fingers slowly over my face, feeling suddenly drained. Both physically, and mentally. "Well, then. I wish you wouldn't feel that way about me."

I can feel his eyes on me, evaluating me. "Because you're scared." He says it so quietly against the wind.

"No. It's not that at all. I just wish...you hadn't ever felt that way. Really, it's kind of...wasted."

"Aren't you familiar with that old age saying, though?" he whispers, voice lilting with soft amusement. I lean forward, clasping my arms around my knees, suddenly alert and tense. "Isn't it better to have loved and lost, than to not have loved, at all?"

I lean forward, pressing my lips into my arched knees. "Not for me, it isn't." The words come out muffled somehow, but I know he hears them. I wish he really could understand them. I really wish he could understand all that I am saying to him. Only, he can't. He just can't.

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><p>Back at home, in my lovely old bed, I am restless. I toss and turn, unable to sleep.<p>

A faint sound of music drifts out from along the hallway, into my ears. I think I know where it is coming from. Edward is listening to music. Or doing... something, while listening to music. I listen carefully, and recognize it's one of his indie bands playing that he likes. Scowling, I sit up, turn on my side, and punch into my pillow with my fist, as hard as I can possibly manage in my tired, fatigued state.

Tomorrow was a Monday. I had to be up early for school and my classes tomorrow. Surely, he knew that.

I fling my legs off my bed, and start down the cold hallway quietly, shivering.

His door is hanging halfway open, explaining why the noise of his stereo was reverberating towards my room. Bracing myself, I trudge forward cautiously, pushing it open gently. I peer inside through the small crack and, what I see inside... is more than just moderately disconcerting.

Edward is sitting splayed out sideways in the old cane rocking chair we used to have downstairs in our parent's room. His eyes are squeezed tightly closed, while he listens to the music surrounding him; his face contorted, like he is either weeping, in pain, or mulling over something, hard. He has his suit still on from earlier at the funeral, the white shirt all wrinkled and untucked disorderly from his trousers. He is barefooted, and he uses the arch of his heel to rock himself back and forth, back and forth, vigorously.

On the floor beside where he is seated, he has all these things scattered everywhere; The old thick photoalbum his mother used and decorated almost obsessively, with a few photos sticking out of it, strewn across the floor at his feet. Some, old wedding photos of our parent's, smiling blissfully into the lens of the camera during their happy days. Others, are photos I haven't seen before, of an unidentified fair-haired male and a young auburn-haired, fresh-faced teenaged boy. A few knocked over, empty beer bottles here and there.

I think he might be under the influence. Maybe that was why?

I knock loudly over the music, and, luckily for me, he hears. His eyes flit open at once to look over at me. It's a little frightening how bleak and ravaged his expression looks, as he gazes up at me. He blinks at me, stilling from his rocking for all of a second, before shifting over and pressing down the volume on his stereo. Then, slowly, he sits up straighter in the cane chair, regarding me in utter confusion.

"What do you want?" he whispers, blankly. "What?" His voice sounds so different, so raspy, and slurred, coming from his sloppy drunk tongue.

It pains me to see him this way, so downcast and intoxicated and pathetic. Pity flares and cracks, exploding within my guts. I lace my fingers together in front of me, and peer down at them, just so I don't have to look directly at him any longer and endure it all over again. "Um, sorry but... the music is a bit too loud. I can hear it all the way down the hall." I pick at my thumbnail anxiously. "Would you mind...uhm, turning it down just a fraction? I'm finding it very difficult to sleep. Sorry," I add, my voice coming out all quiet and quivery.

It takes a moment for him to find his tongue. "Fine," he mumbles indistinctly, everything jumbled. "Whatever you say." I lift my eyes back up to him nervously, as he staggers off the rocking chair to his feet. He can't seem to walk straight; There is a bit of a limp to his feet, which is a little worrisome to me.

"Why... why are you doing this to yourself?" I breathe out, uneasily.

He looks over at me sharply. "What?"

I hold his gaze, pointing to all the bottles. "Uh, I don't know." I start sarcastically. "Maybe, drinking." I run my eyes over his face sadly. "Getting yourself drunk and all miserable, like this."

He sighs heavily through his nostrils, turning his eyes to his blinking stereo. He pushes down on the power button with his thumb, abruptly cutting off all noise. "Maybe because it feels good to be drunk." He leans down sideways, picking up a bottle that has astonishingly remained standing in comparision to all the others knocked over beside it. I can tell there is still beer in this one; The liquid sloshes gently against the glass when he holds it up to his mouth. He raises his eyes to meet mine again, almost daring me to say something about it. Then, quickly, he tilts his head back and takes a long mouthful. He emits a low appreciative sigh after he swallows, smacking his lips together. "Maybe it also helps me not to feel anymore."

"And, is that what you want?" I ask, bewildered. "Not to feel anything at all? You want to numb yourself up by drinking so much?"

He bursts out laughing. It has an unfriendly, hostile edge to it. "Since when were you the parent?" he says, arching his eyebrows at me. His face contorts again, and quickly, he glances away, down at his feet. For a moment, I think he is about to start crying, and it leaves me feeling afraid of him. He's been crying so much lately, even though I could tell he hated doing it.

"_Nobody_ is the parent here."

He laughs again. "No shit."

"I'm just... concerned for you."

Something unfamiliar flits across his face at my words. He licks his lips, before lifting his head again to look at me, his eyes gleaming. "Why would you be concerned for me? You loathe me, remember? Didn't you, uh, say that today, down at the beach? Didn't you make it clear on me that you-" His voice wavers and breaks. He averts my eyes again, letting his chin fall to his chest, looking at his bare feet. He plucks the material of his trousers, twisting it around with his fingers.

"Edward, I didn't say that I..." I sigh miserably, tossing my head. God, I can't even figure out what I am supposed to say. "I didn't say that I didn't care for you, in my own way. Just... not... in the way that you hope from me."

He grunts at my words, blinking heavily, like he is struggling to comprehend, and just can't get it at all. I know it is the alcohol that is doing it to him. My eyes lower to the numerous bottles around the chair. I count them quickly, in my head. Eight. Eight...bottles. I didn't know whether he could hold that amount of alcohol well, though. Clearly not.

"You're going to turn into an alcoholic, you know that?" I whisper, my voice deep, and broken with concern. "If you keep this up... you probably will."

"So what?" His voice is low and harsh. I'm frustrating him.

"So... I care. I don't want you becoming dependant. It's not... healthy. You can't keep this up."

He mumbles out a few rumbling words that my ears can't hear. He raises his hand to scratch at his forehead with his fingers. There's a splotch of... bright red blood on the sleeve of his shirt.

My stomach drops at the sight. "What on earth have you gone and done to yourself?" My voice is accidently loud, and panicked. "Where did that blood come from, Edward?" I pad my way closer to him in my socks, stepping over all the clutter. "Why are you bleeding? Where is it coming from? Tell me."

"What?" He goes into defensive mode, eyeing me like I'm crazy. "I'm not bleeding. I don't even _know_... what you're even talking about..."

"Oh, really?" I intone, dubiously. "You don't know that you have blood on your shirt? I find that very hard to believe, unless you are more drunk than I thought!"

I'm panting urgently, my mouth dry, when I reach out to clutch his arm.

"What?" he spits out, flinging his arms away from me.

"Show me," I demand. "Let me see what you've gone and done to yourself!" I manage to grip onto his arm, tight, and he starts breathing heavily. He stiffens when I manage to pull his sleeve up to where the blood came from. Once I am able to see the cause of it, I am reeling, feeling both helpless and sick. My eyes widen in outrage. "I cannot believe this!"

There is a fresh curved line of a cut along his forearm to his elbow. A small amount of bright blood is weeping out of it, and it's definitely fresh. How could it have happened? Surely, he would have noticed himself cutting it by accident even if he were drunk? He would have felt the pain! And then, suddenly, it occurs to me, and leaves me blanching in both shock, and distress. He did it to himself on purpose. I know he did. Why would he do something so stupid, something so careless? Why?

He wrenches his arm free from my grip, avoiding me. An uncontainable sob rackets through my chest.

"How could you do this to yourself?" I cry wildly, the words flinging out accusatory from my clenched teeth. "Why would you do such a thing to yourself? How could you do this?"

I see his face cave in on itself in a split second, from guilt and drunken despair, to sudden flaring defensive rage. He lets his bottle of beer slip between his fingers. It falls near my feet with a loud clunk. The bubbling liquid instantly pours out, wetting my toes.

"Stupid!" I sob wretchedly, throwing my palms into his chest roughly. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Why would you do that to yourself? How could you?"

He is frowning, his mouth a tight, thin line, as he just stands there, not moving at all, letting me hit him without even so much as a flinch. He's accepting it. He is accepting everything. He doesn't even do anything. Just... stands there, and takes it. It's even worse to endure than having him responding to my hit's by flying in a sudden provoked rage. He just... he won't do anything. Just takes it, watching me blankly, while I throw my hands around. Why isn't he saying, or doing anything? And, why the hell isn't he telling me to stop?

"How _dare_ you do that to yourself!" I find myself screaming at the top of my lungs in between hits to his chest, and still...nothing. "Why would you do something so stupid to yourself? There are people in the world that care about you and... you... you just do something so hurtful to yourself!"

With one last exhausted hit, I give up, collapsing into myself, a hurt, and sobbing mess of tears and frustration. Still, he just stands there, motionless, hands dangling at his sides, while I cry and heave into myself. I want him to do something. I want him to say something. Anything. And, yet, he doesn't. And that makes it all the more worse. He doesn't try to do a single thing!

"I can't believe you did that," I whisper, struggling to breathe, completely drained, both mentally, and otherwise. I clutch a hand over my chest tightly, trying to calm myself down, as I wait out for the explaining to begin. A moment later, he does slowly.

"You really want to know why I did it? Why?" I nod, as I meet his eyes through my blurry ones. He sounds unsettlingly calm and composed as a summer's day. It shouldn't be that way at all. "I just want to feel again." He slips up, sounding just as exhaused, and broken, as I feel. His voice is trembling, a guttural groan. "Can you understand that, at all? I just want to feel... pain. That's it, that's all. Nothing else anymore. All right? Just good, old pain."

"Well, it's a stupid way of going about it!" I gasp out, angrily.

"I don't want to feel things anymore," he breathes out, eyeing me frostily. "Not anything I shouldn't. Things that shouldn't have ever been felt in the first place. Can you possibly understand that, at all?" His eyes run over my wet-feeling face solemnly. "Can you? I don't... want..." He growls louder, agonizingly, through his teeth, motioning with tight hands his heart being ripped out from his chest, "...it... anymore!" His eyes shine wildly when, so suddenly, sending me whimpering, his hands close over the top of my shoulders, holding me, pinching my skin from my bones. My eyes close over, and I'm trembling, in either sheer fear, uncertainty, I don't quite know what. "I wish... I felt the same way about you. I wish you turned my stomach!" He groans loudly. "I wish... I _loathed_ the very sight of you...I _wish..._ you _disgusted_ me!" He is screaming through his teeth, shaking my shoulders around. "I wish... _so_ many things, but I..."

Knocking the wind out of me, his hands slip from my shoulders to grasp at my cheeks and then, electrocuting me, he is kissing me, hard. Everything is wet, from my tears, or both our tears, I don't quite know, and his lips are hard on mine, his... teeth are stabbing into my mouth, his breath is pungent with alcohol, and I know he is doing this to pain me.

He wants me to suffer, he wants me to bleed. He wants me to feel... _everything._


	17. Everything and Nothing

**I am so sorry guys for taking so so long to update! Life has been hectic, but I promise, I swear I will continue this story until it's completion. As for this chapter, it was a hard one to write. You'll probably hate it, but please be kind! :'( Promise next update will be much, much longer. Bit of angst in this one.**

**Love you all so much, you're all so amazing, and I'm still truly humbled by everything! So, thank you! I may go run and hide after this terrible chapter, I'm sorry! x**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>_

If there is one thing I've grown to learn out of all of this, it's that sex doesn't necessarily have to be a meaningful thing. It doesn't particularly have to be an act wrapped full, and bursting with bundles of emotions.

It doesn't necessarily have to be one given out of some sense of a spiritual, or physical connection to somebody else.

Sometimes, it can be given without significance. It can be an act of resignation, a half-hearted relent. The only means possible to comfort the other person who truly requires it most.

That's all this was for me. Something with the sole purpose of consoling the other; Something given freely as the only resolution of seeping deepest of all into that other wounded, suffering person's heart, and by gesture, telling them:

Everything's all right. You don't need to hurt because of me anymore. But this means nothing to me. This is all it will ever be, all it will ever amount to. So, enjoy it while it lasts. This is about making you happy.

And, it's not entirely an easy thing to do. It's not without troublesome effort of pretending I want this with him in turn. It isn't without lying, or forcing myself not to recoil, the instance he slides over me on that bed. Wanting, aching. Desperate for a connection that will never be reached completely for the two of us.

I close my eyes, and rest my head back against the mattress. I'm full of unwant, and unease. I cannot help the familial coilings and tightenings of my body, when his hands glide over every part of me. My legs, my ankles, the balls of my feet. And soon, those curious, helpless hands are replaced by his mouth.

His alcohol-breathy mouth.

His warm, ragged breaths encasing over my skin. My knobby knees. My thighs. His sandpaper rough chin leaving scratchy after effects, after one kiss placed, then the next, and the next.

I'm somewhere else. I'm somewhere else. Somewhere carefree, somewhere outside my body. Somewhere he can't reach me. I've left my body, I'm not feeling this.

I'm not feeling his mouth, or his hands.

Lips on my neck, eager fingers on my shoulders. Uneven breaths, my name being chanted on a drunken, slurry, hot tongue.

"Bella. Bella. Look at me."

I'm not here. He isn't really speaking to me, because I'm not here. I'm not submitting myself to him. I'm not.

"Bella, please. Look at me." Pleas of frustration-laced agitation curl off his tongue. "Why... why do you have your eyes closed? I want to... I want to make love... Bella, please."

I refuse to so much as open them. It makes things easier this way. It makes it easier to comfort him, this way.

But clearly, this wasn't the way he wanted it. Not like this.

Everything suddenly stops. His hands stop touching me, his mouth stops kissing me. The mattress depresses and lurches. He's climbed away from me, far, far away.

It is only then that I allow my eyes to reopen.

He is standing over me, staring down at me while I lay there on the mattress, his eyes heavy-lidded and woozy. It's the alcohol. All the alcohol. His lips are pressed in a thin, tight line. Reproving, almost. He is trembling all over. Half of his shirt is unbuttoned. The blood's still there dried on the sleeve from his little cutting antic earlier.

"What are you doing? Why... why are your eyes closed?"

I peer up at him blankly, teetering on the edge of a calm, careless daze.

"You wanted this from me." My tone is matter-of-fact, and sleep-addled. "I was giving it to you."

"You were... giving it to me?" He erupts into a cold fit of laughter. He rakes both hands through his hair, and his face twists. In upset? Agitation? Who knows what. I don't. And then, he is screaming in a strangled voice: "I don't want your body, all right?"

My brows crease. I'm confused. Was that not why we were here? "You don't?"

"No, I want you! Not your... body, Bella. You!"

And then, I've well and truly heard enough. I slide up against the pillows, and twist my legs off the bed. I don't look back at him as I strut out of his room. I crawl back into the safe confines of my bed, and stare up at the ceiling.

_Don't ask this of me, Edward. Don't ask me for the one thing I won't be able to give you. Ever._

I think I actually hate myself right about now. The key to everything- in order to make all of this stop, Edward's upset- in order to be fully happy and have a good, hearty family relationship together... it means I would have to love him.

And, you can never force yourself into loving anyone. I hate that truth. Because things would be that much happier, if I could. There would be no more complications, and no more hurt, or grief. I guess I'm just truly a cold, selfish person. But I can't give him all of me. My body, yes. But not my heart, or my attraction, or my... love.

It isn't his to have. At least, not in the way he wants from me.

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><p>When I get dressed the next morning, and am all ready for school, I sense a change in the air. Something is about to happen.<p>

This morning is different.

It's all there in the breakfast Edward has made; Two plates of steaming eggs and sausages on the table. Two tall glasses of orange juice set near them. Edward hasn't ever made breakfast before.

Nervousness and restlessness radiates off every inch of his pores, when I come down the staircase. He is already sitting at the table, awfully still and silent. He's clearly waiting for me to join him.

"I made breakfast." The words are soft, and uncertain on his tongue. His voice is all raspy, and subdued. I stare at him in silence for a minute, judging his disposition; He clearly is experiencing the effects of his hang-over from drinking all those bottles of beer last night. But he's also wracked with guilt- I think- over what happened with me.

"You shouldn't have bothered. I'm not hungry enough to eat anything." I turn to leave. He tells me to stop forcefully.

"Look, I..." He pauses for a moment, and crosses his hands together in front of his chin. He stares down at them, and refuses to even so much as look up at me. He can't face me after what happened. But really, maybe that's a good thing? "I was drunk, and... I got emotional. I didn't mean to pressure-"

"-You don't have to explain yourself to me," I cut in curtly, "I all ready know."

"Do you?" he whispers, staring down at his hands doubtfully. "Do you really? And did you..." The sentence gets caught in his throat, and his mouth contorts. "... you... feel anything at all?"

I feel paralyzed at his question, like I have to force myself into breathing before I pass out.

My mouth curls into a grimace.

"I felt... everything." Disgust. Pity. Frustration that I don't feel the same way, that I can't possibly ever._ Everything._

His mouth cracks into an astonished smile. His eyes glaze over with tearful emotion.

"Everything," he repeats quietly to himself, in humbled appreciation. "_Everything_."


	18. Forever, if it Takes

**First, Twilight belongs to its owner, S.M. I have nothing to do with it. **

**I apologize for taking so long to update, I hope you'll all be able to forgive me and are still interested in the story! I've been working and oddly enough, I'm on my Christmas break and this was just the perfect chance I got to write and manage an update.**

**Hoping you all have a wonderful, safe, and happy Christmas! Now that I have four weeks off work, I will be updating regularly! Love you guys, thank you all so much for being amazing! x Hope you're all well! xxx**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

The pressure was getting to me. It was getting too much. I had to see somebody. Maybe not reveal all, but certain parts of it, anyhow.

"Come in, Isabella. There's no need to knock," Mr. Banner, the school guidance counsellor says, peering up at me kindly and smiling. I enter, and sit on the chair across from his desk. He pushes his documents aside, and places his full attention onto me. "What can I do for you today?"

"I just... I really feel I need to talk to someone. I'm not coping very well." Even simply uttering that, its like a burdensome gorilla is loaded off my back.

"Oh, of course." He looks about taken aback, and I can't blame him. Talking to a school counsellor about my problems, it wasn't something I would ever have envisioned myself doing. "Well, that is what I am here for. Here for anyone who needs an understanding, judgement-free ear to listen. What seems to be the problem, darling?"

"I just can't seem to cope with everything that is going on in my life right now."

"Yes. What type of things? Certain things regarding your parent's passing?"

I feel my mouth pop open, but I collect myself. I didn't know why I assumed he wouldn't have known about my parents car accident when the entire student body seemed to. Forks was a small town; Word has to get around eventually.

"Well, yes. That is partly it." I stare down at my hands, folding them in the middle of my lap. "Other things, also. Life is getting a bit... difficult right now. I need to speak to somebody, I suppose."

He gives me a smile that appears to me a bit too sympathetic. He feels sorry for me, and I don't much like that.

"I was deeply saddened when I heard the news, Isabella," he says gently. "I am very sorry for your loss and the tragedies you've faced. I am pleased you have made the decision to come here and talk to me about it. Very pleased, darling."

"Yes, well. Everybody says that, don't they?" It flies out of my mouth before it even registers what I'm saying. Too clipped, in voice. Too stiff. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it angers me in a sense. "It's customary, though. Isn't it?"

Mr. Banner looks a bit startled. "Everybody says what, Miss. Swan?"

"Everybody says, 'Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss'. Like it'll make it any easier. Like it'll make it all go away. Like it'll... turn things around. Only, it doesn't make it any easier. Not even a little bit."

"I understand why you might feel that way. But it should help to know that there are people out there, who do understand what you're going through, and are willing to let you talk to them if you are in need. You don't need to suffer in silence. We all go through tragedies at least once in our life-times. We are all human, and are in need of human compassion."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"How is life for you? I understand the difficulties you must be facing currently, but I hear you live with your step-brother?"

My entire body clenches involuntary. I can feel myself closing down inwards at the topic he's chosen to bring to the surface- so quickly, so casually.

"Do you speak with him about how you're feeling over your loss, Bella?" he goes on gently. "I'm sure he understands completely, since he is suffering much the same as you are, surely. Are you open with him about it? Perhaps it would help, if you chose a quiet evening at home, to sit down with him and have a meaningful discussion over-"

He cannot possibly understand the pressure in doing that. He just can't. Perhaps it was a wrong idea in seeing him today? I fix a stony stare onto him."- Are you telling me the only way I can find closure in their deaths is by... falling into my step-brothers arms?"

Mr. Banner looks flustered, and incensed. Maybe its written all over my face?

"Are you saying that your step-brother and you don't get along very well? Is that part of the issue as to why you don't talk to him openly about your grievances?"

_No, it's mainly because he wants something from me that I don't think I can ever give him. Something that if I tell you about right now, you'll recoil in shock_. _He says he loves me. He wants me to feel things in return for him, even desperately so._

"If there is anyone who is suffering as equally as you are right now over your loss, it is your step-brother, Isabella. He won't fault you. He is going through it just as much as you are right now, no doubt."

"I can't talk to him," I squeeze out through my teeth.

"And_ why_ ever not?"

I try to explain plausibly without making a big deal over it, and letting him in on too much. "Because, maybe you're right. We've never gotten along very well. We argue a lot, and we can't see eye-to-eye most of the time."

"Perhaps your loss has put a strain on your relationship? I believe the best thing to do here, would be to merely give it a try, and be open with him on how you're feeling. You're both in the same place right now, no doubt. You're both suffering. Perhaps enlightening him in on it, would ease some of your troubled mind? After all, he won't fault you, surely. He is going through exactly the same amount of turmoil as you are."

_Yes, but I've made it more, because I can't feel things the way he wants me to._

"The first step, would be talking to your step-sibling. Share your pain."

_Share the pain._

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><p>Mr. Banner's words have given me a lot of food for thought. That doesn't mean it makes it any less troublesome to open myself up to Edward, after all that we've been through. But maybe Mr. Banner was right? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try so much? I am determined once I reach home from school.<p>

"You want some hot chocolate?"

A few years back, Esme and I would do this. We would sit up late, and sometimes she would brush my hair over mouthfuls of soothing hot chocolate, and she would talk to me about things. I miss doing such a simple thing with her like that. Though it might feel weird doing it with Edward, I couldn't see any harm in it

Edward looks stunned for all of a second, before shrugging. "Sure. Whatever you want."

I realize he's always been saying that to me. Whatever you want. I_ just want to sleep in my bed alone. Sure, whatever you want. No more funny looks or comments anymore? I swear. Whatever you want._

We go into the kitchen and fuss around making hot chocolate and, eventually, I carry my mug over and slide up onto the stool near the kitchen counter. Edward looks in a contemplative mood, just standing there and watching me suspiciously, occasionally taking cautious sips from his mug.

"What's going on here, Bella?"

I didn't know how he would take it, but something told me he would take it bad. I just sensed he would. Carefully, I set my hot mug on the counter and cover my hands over my eyes. They shake as they sit there, shielding my gaze from where Edward is standing around.

"I talked to the school guidance counsellor today."

"You what?" He sounds just like I expected he would. Panicked, like I might have said something wrong concerning everything he has told me; all about his feelings, and everything that has happened ever since because I can't possibly find it within myself to reciprocate them, no matter how hard I try. Which I didn't. And maybe if I had felt that angry towards him, that vengeful, I might have told every single thing. But surprisingly, I didn't feel anything all that malicious towards him at all. I knew he was hurting- if in a different way than I was hurting. "Why? You said anything about us? About... me?"

"I didn't," I reassure him quietly. "Just said that I wasn't coping well, which is the truth. I'm not."

"I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel as if you can't cope."

"It isn't that."

"What is it then?"

"Everything. Partly you and what you say, and partly my own feelings over missing mom and dad. It's... overwhelming."

I feel him sit slowly on the stool beside me. I can see through the corner of my eye, that he has his head bowed. He gives out a deep, uneven sigh. "Well, I'm here."_ I know that. I know. You make it so obvious to me- always frustrating me, and making me feel guilty._

After what feels a long time, he rests a hand gently on my shoulder. My stomach tightens.

"_I'm_ here," he says again. He says it like it is meant to mean something to me, like it is meant to miraculously make things better. He rubs my shoulder, and even though I dislike him touching me, I can't help the fact it is somewhat comforting to me. "Whatever you need, whatever you want to talk about... I'm here. You can say whatever you like to me. You can yell at me, say whatever bad names in the book- anything!" I can't help but feel humoured in him saying that- a miserable laugh tickles the tip of my throat. "Nothing will ever scare me away, because what I have for you... what I feel... it is unconditional, always."

I feel my eyebrows crease and dip in. Unconditional? I don't quite understand what he means. I don't know when it starts, but I feel something wet run down my face. My face is wet with silent tears, my eyes are blurry, and I don't like it. At all.

"I wish you would just... talk to me." He is running his fingers through my hair.

"That's the problem, though," I murmur quietly. I clamp my hands over my eyes.

"What is?"

"I feel like... I _can't_ talk to you," I admit. "I don't want to talk to you about_ anything_."

"But you_ can_, Bella. Like I said, unconditional."

"Unconditional what?" I don't want to get angry, but I'm unable to help it. It is just some involuntary drive he pulls out of me.

I don't like it, but he leans across his stool towards me and wraps his arm around my neck. He lays his cheek against my hair. Astonishingly, I don't find it all that bad at all. "My love for you." His voice is soft, and he places a hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair. "You should talk to me whenever you want, whenever you're feeling down and in need. It would make me happy, rather than some guidance counsellor at your school. He can't know anything, even with all those degrees. He can't know anything, nobody can. Nobody has the ability to understand, but me, Bella. Nobody. Do you remember the first time you came around with your father to this house so that my mother could introduce me to you?"

"Yes." _How could I forget._ It changed everything. It put us where we were now.

"The second I saw you... you felt like Christmas morning to me. Like a present you're instantly drawn to." He strokes my hair again, and I can almost hear the smile in his soft voice."One that you want to just tear the wrapping off into shreds and discover what is underneath all that decorative wrapping. What is truly underneath, deepest inside, where no one else has ever been before, not even a guidance counsellor. All I've ever really wanted from you, was to get to know the real you no one has ever experienced to see before."

"I miss them so much. I feel so lost without them." I twine my arms around his back. It's impossible to even believe I could ever actively be seeking comfort physically from someone who repulses me so severely. Clearly, he doesn't sicken me as nearly as I thought. "I feel so much guilt, because I know... I'm half the reason for your pain."

I rest my face into the side of his shoulder, and we stay like this for a very long moment. Him holding me, and uttering things at me underneath his breath is oddly relieving beyond telling. I don't quite know how I suddenly came to feel this way, at peace in him, in contrast to feeling deeply disturbed and disgusted by his words. But I do.

"Oh, Bella. This makes every second of pain felt worth it." He is whispering hoarsely into the side of my neck. "This is the way it was supposed to be, from the very moment the accident happened. _You_, coming to_ me_, for comfort. No counsellors, just_ me_."

I lift my head to look up at him. His eyes are shining, tender. Humbled.

"I thought that maybe if I tried to will myself into sleeping with you, it would make you feel better. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

He shakes his head down at me, as if he is beyond understanding. Then something flickers across his face, and a peculiar glint overcomes his eyes. "That was what you were doing? Forcing yourself into sleeping with me? Not even out of your own will, or because you... desired it yourself?"

"No." I smile at him ruefully.

"Right. Just like forcing yourself to swallow down a food you dislike, simply to be pleasant as a house guest?"

"I'm sorry, Edward!"

"Oh, no. Thank you." Something odd has twisted and marred his voice. "Well, now I know what I truly am to you. Something that you have to force yourself to tolerate." A moan tears through his teeth, and he shifts into an utterly, utterly tortured and broken man.

"Edward, I-" I begin hopelessly. I've suddenly realized my error, seconds too soon.

"No matter," he says quickly. He pushes away from me, placing a considerable and careful amount of distance between us. Then he picks up his mug, and I hear it, so softly and bitterly, underneath his breath: "I'll wait. _Forever_, if I have to."

**Hope this one was okay? Hope you're still interested in the story?**


	19. Starting Over

_**I own nothing to do with Twilight. Never have, never will :)**_

_**I want to thank you all so much, I apologize it has taken me so long for an update. Hope you all had a very wonderful Christmas and New years (why do the days and months go so fast? It's already more than halfway through Jan!) Hoping you will enjoy this one, and I completely understand if you want to throw me a line and tell me how terrible it was, and illogical. Bella does care, she feels incredibly bad. Throw some rotten fruit at me, if you like :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Next update will be next week! Love you all so much, you're all such an incredible, amazing, inspiring bunch! Much love and happiness to you all! x **_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>_

"How is school?"

"Fine," I say curtly with a sigh. "How is work?"

"Fine," he mimics me brusquely. Then, he smiles softly. "What do you want to do after high school? What's the plan?"

After he finished work, Edward insisted we get out of the house and have dinner together. And, it wasn't so bad, when we could be like this; Just simply talking about life, and whatever goals we had in mind for it.

"Hmm. I'm not sure yet. I'm a bit... undecided, about literally everything. College seems a good place to start, though. Dad would have wanted me to get a higher education."

"College?" He sits up straighter in his chair; I've captured his keen interest. It was nice he cared so much. "Which college are you thinking?"

"I'm undecided about that, too."

Our meals arrive.

"Are you thinking a college here? Or somewhere else?"

I fill my spoon with the laksa asian soup I ordered, and take a hazardous sip. It's definitely far too spicy for my liking. My nose starts to run; I shake out the napkin beside the bowl and quickly wipe my nose. "I'm thinking more along the lines of... out of Washington. It'll be nice to experience somewhere different, you know."

"You have to be careful at college, though." His nose scrunches in distaste. "Too many wild parties. Too many boys."

I feel my lips twist up into an anxious smile.

"I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."

He stares down at his untouched food; He hasn't even picked up his cutlery yet. "Is that all this is simply about?" he asks, full of quiet hesitation. "Because your father would have approved of you going away to college?"

"What do you mean, 'Is that all'?"

"Well...," He pauses uncertainly, and rakes a hand through his hair. "Do you just want to experience a different lifestyle, or is it something more than that?"

I stare at him blankly; I still don't quite understand what he is getting at. "Um, yeah. I've never really been out of Washington before," I confess, and suddenly the possibilities are endless. "It'll be great. It's sort of exciting!"

"Uh-huh. So, it isn't only because you just desperately, desperately want to get away from me?" He says it lightly, like he's joking. But it's there in his expression; In his doubtful bluish-green eyes that he is being nothing but completely sincere in asking me that. "Your stepbrother scares you away... in all his fervent kookiness? That isn't partly it?"

I laugh weakly, even though I know he isn't entirely playing with me.

"It's not that you frighten me away, in some sense. I just only truthfully want to experience something different." Sure, that wasn't wholly true to the point, because his intensity about me does make me feel terribly disconcerted. "It isn't about you at all."

He stares me down wryly. "Oh, _sure _it isn't."

"It's not," I repeat, a little more firmly. He's watching me with obvious disbelief.

"Well, either way, it doesn't change the fact I'm gonna miss you if you do go."

"Really?" It's my turn to be skeptic. "You ought to be rejoicing the second I do leave. It'll be better for you, if I did." _No more pain for you. You can move on, and be happy and accepting. You can find a girl who will love you, for you, and you can move on from this and start a happy, healthy relationship with her._

"I think I'm bound to be one of those old men, who die alone, and unloved."

It hurts me, him saying that, for some reason. "Oh, you won't! You'll find a nice woman, before you know it. And you'll have cute children together, and I'll be their Aunty who completely dotes on them!"

I can tell he dislikes me saying that; Me thinking that way.

"No, I'll definitely be one of those old, miserable men, who sit at home on their ratty sofa, thinking wistfully back to the days of their youth, and wishing it had gone a lot differently than it did."

"Well, you've still got a good eighty years ahead of you," I try to joke. "I'm sure you'll find someone within that time frame, and things will miraculously get better for you. You'll see."

"No." He tosses his head. "I'd rather die an old, single man. Living that way... it would only be based on a lie."

"Why do you have to talk so negatively? You'll see. In a few years, you'll look back on this conversation we had here tonight, and you'll realize how right I was, and how ridiculous you were."

"I don't _want_ it to be right."

"You're being silly."

"Am I?" He raises one eyebrow at me. "It's like with penguins and wolves. You know about that, right?"

"No. What about penguins and wolves?"

"They're predominantly loyal creatures, when it comes to their mates." He talks about it faster and faster by the second, and I can tell, by the glint in his eye, that it is something that interests him, the way of these animals. "They migrate or hunt, whatever... halfway across the world, but they still return to their mates side faithfully. There is only one mate, one person, for them, for the rest of their lives. If their mate perishes before them, they remain faithful, with no other mates, right 'till the end." He raps a set of knuckles against the table top loudly to emphasize his point. "That, is how I'll be. I'll die an old man, unwanted and unloved, reminiscing back to the days of his youth about the only girl he loved and wanted to be with for the rest of his life." He sounds so certain of that, it's worrying. He says it almost proudly, his nostrils flaring. It frightens me, because he sounds so accepting, so convinced. So confident, even. It depresses me.

"Well, we're not wolves or penguins, or any other animal for that matter." Thank God for that. "We are human beings, Edward, and I don't think we're genetically programmed to just love and be with one person for the rest of our lives. There will be others."

"But that's how I'll be, Bella," he goes on strongly, "I _know_ it." He is silent for a moment, while he plucks a dinner roll off the table. He stuffs a corner into his mouth, pulls it off with his teeth. Everything is quiet for a bit, while he chews it down, and then he is at it again. It's so silly. "And, honestly, I want it to be that way, because I don't want to love anybody else. Not ever. I can't."

I nod sadly, my mouth full with soup.

He runs a hand over the table and grips one of mine firmly. He leans over in his seat, radiating hopefulness and eagerness. "If circumstances were different... if we'd met in another time and place, weren't related by marriage, and such... Just two adults in the world, two strangers on the street... could you honestly tell me things would be the same as they are now?

It takes me a while to consider that. I look down at his hand that is holding mine. It takes me a moment to find my voice again. "No, I couldn't. Maybe things might have worked out differently, yes. I might have been interested in you on some level, if you were my age and things. But it's no use, because things aren't that way, and they can't ever be. There isn't any use wondering what might- or could - have been." It didn't really matter, if things were actually different or not. It was my own sense of right and wrong, my own principles; I had been living with him as my brother, an older brother figure in my life. It didn't matter whether we were blood related or not, because... he was still exactly a brother to me.

He regards me contemplatively. He bites down onto his lower lip with his front teeth. "So, if we so-happened to have met for the first time not through our parents... you're saying I might have had a chance with you?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know."

"Then let's pretend, right now." He leans forward in his chair determinedly. "I've only just walked into the restaurant, and saw you sitting here." He let's go of my hand quickly, and shifts in his seat. "My head is going crazy, I've got all those symptoms of a man in love at first sight." He pats his shirt. "My heart is thumping, my hands are sweating, and I want you so badly. So, after working through the nerves, I come over to you, and here we are." He extends a hand out to me, smiling good-naturedly. "Hello, I'm Edward. Truly wonderful to meet you. Where have you been for the last... twenty-five years or so of my life? Who are you?"

I'm all nervous and flustered, because he is taking his game so seriously.

"Hello," I play along, half-serious. "I'm Bella. And you're Edward. You're my stepbrother. You honestly don't remember that? Were you thumped on the head, or something?" I laugh, hysterically loud. I'm uneasy and left feeling shy.

"I'm sorry. You must have me mistaken for somebody else." He shoots me a stark, play-along-with-me-or-else look. "I've never met you before, I think I would know if I had. A pretty face like yours wouldn't be one to forget easily, surely."

"_Edward_," I sigh. I'm tired, hungry, and immediately cranky. "I just want to eat, please. Stop being silly!"

"For fucksake. You're not _even_ trying!"

"I'm _not_ in the mood for games, all right?"

"I'll go into the bathroom, and when I return, we'll start all over again, all right?" Before I can say anything in all my pent-up annoyance, he slides out of his chair, and abruptly gets to his feet. "When I return, you don't know me." And then he stalks off into the direction of the men's bathroom.

I glower after him, keyed-up.

He doesn't return for a little over five minutes. When he does, I'm already halfway through my bowl of Asian soup. His eyes are wet and blotchy, and he looks incredibly nervous as he approaches our tables again. Very good acting.

"Excuse me, may I sit here? Are you alone?"

"Well, you might as well. Your food is probably already cold, by now!"

He sighs heavily through his mouth, not impressed, then plops down into his chair across from me. "I'm Edward, by the way. I think you're absolutely beautiful, if that's not too rude or forward in saying that."

I roll my eyes petulantly. "Oh, believe me. You've said far worse when I was a younger girl. It didn't stop you, then."

He ignores my comment, and he is very good at it, also. "What's your name?"

"Bella. And I'm your stepsister."

"Bella, you say? That's a lovely, _lovely_ name."

"_Is_ it?"

"Yes. It suits you." He looks around the room, trying to hide a grin. "Are you alone tonight, by any chance?"

"No," I mutter bluntly, "I'm not."

"Oh, you aren't? Shame. Who're you with?"

"_You_."

"Oh, you want me to join you for dinner?"

"I'm having dinner with a man who looks _exactly_ like you. And he's my _stepbrother_. Are you his twin, or split personality or something?"

"I don't know." He rubs his chin with his fingers, faking thought. "Maybe. You want to head home with me after this?"

I give him a rude look; One that goes completely past him, since he is so invested in this. While deep down, incredibly irritating, it is actually sort of funny. I catch myself holding in a laugh. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Oh, that's fucking great, Bella. I'd love for you to come home with me. In fact, are you finished with your dinner?"

I nod, taking the last small sip of my soup. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Let's go, then."

His plate is still full; He hasn't even eaten a single thing, aside from the bite of roll. "Are you serious? You haven't even started with your food."

"I'm done." He holds out an arm for me to take eagerly. It's weird, and he's weird, but I go along with it anyway. I wrap my hand around his arm, and then we're off, heading out into the street. It's oddly liberating, being stupid with him. I never dreamed anything with him could be. And after everything we had endured together, it was a well-needed break.

It's damp and chilly outside, as it usually is of a night. I've forgotten to take my jacket with me, so I'm shivering. Edward notices this and, completely stunning me, removes his jacket and slides it over my shoulders. It's surprisingly very warm and snug. I would have loved for us to be able to be like this, around our parents. Just two step-siblings getting alone and being ridiculous together. I find that like this, this new development, with him... I don't feel as uncomfortable around him anymore. I feel... normal. Like everything is normal again. He wraps an arm around me, warming me from the breeze, while we walk. It feels... completely normal. Exactly like something two step-siblings would do. Nothing sexual about it, at all, and the last thing I would ever feel about him is sexual, even if it isn't quite the same way for him.

"Are you taking me home?" I ask, being silly.

"I am. It's just a few blocks from here. I live with a girl, but she isn't home right now. She'll probably be home in like, a few minutes. At exactly the same time as I am."

"Oh, wow. You live with a girl? Can't say I'm too impressed over that, Edward."

"Well, we did live with our parents, but they're gone now. So, it's just us, and she's basically the only person I have left, so..." He trails off meaningfully, jerking a shoulder, and I grimace down at my shoes.

"Do you miss them- as much as I do?" I can't help but not believe that he does, as much as I do. He doesn't really cry about them... he hasn't really, aside from the funeral. He's cried about other things, yes, partly due to me. But... I don't know. It feels almost as if he has moved on, somehow, and recovered.

He slows down from our walking to glance down at me. He smiles down at me; More like a tight-lipped, miserable grimace, than an actual real one. "Of course, I do. I miss them every day. Especially being in the house... where their absence literally screams at you."

"It does, doesn't it?" I sigh loudly. "You can feel... the absence everywhere. I don't even know what to do without them, half the time. But it'll get better, right?"

"Of course, it will. We have each other, and that would make them happy."

"Right." I roll my eyes down to my shoes. It wasn't very comforting at all. "But they wouldn't be happy... if they look down on us, and see how we're treating each other," I point out, my voice deep and my heart stuck in my throat. "We treat each other so badly, and I don't want to hurt you anymore, or make you... feel a certain way. I want us to just get along, and be happy. I think they would like that more, and not seeing us argue constantly and me making you feel sad."

"I completely agree." He reaches up my shoulder and touches my cheek gently. Just the gesture alone, makes me want to break down crying. My throat tightens, to the point where I feel I'm suffocating.

"But this is exactly what I mean, Edward." I take his hand, and place it back onto my shoulder. "We can't be happy... and we can't be a family, while we're like this. You can't keep on trying to push me into this! You have to stop touching me... and... doing all the things you're doing!"

"I... I know, Bella," he says softly. "I know." He sounds almost as if he is on the verge of crying himself, that he has something wedged inside his throat.

"Just stop trying for me, please!"

"And I don't want to push you away. It isn't my intentions at all. And... if you want me to stop, then I'll do it. Do you want to know why I'd do that?"

"_Why_?" Slowly, I separate myself from him and push the material of his jacket back into his hands.

"Because... I... I care about your feelings more than mine." I peer up at him, trying to absorb that. His expression is bleak, his eyes wet again, and he shakes his head in silence. "And if you don't ever want me... that's fine. I won't push you anymore, because I can see you're tired of it, its only frustrating you, and so am I. I'm tired and frustrated and... I just... I'll give up. I'll surrender. It's never going to happen. Look, you don't need to feel sorry and cry for me... " But I do, and I can't seem to stop. I am weeping so hard it feels like my chest is about to burst open into little shreds, because why can't I feel it? In order to make him happy? Why not? "This is exactly what I don't want, I never wanted this." He comes to me, and puts his arms around me gently. "I never wanted to make you cry. I never wanted that, never," he says softly, rubbing my back. "And just like the wolves... and whatever fucking other animals out there, I'll be the same. But I'll be happy doing it, because it's what I want to be, it's who I am. And besides, I've done it for the past four or so years... loving you from afar and never having you. It doesn't matter, time is nothing. Could you just leave me one thing, and that is that I get to see you, now and then... if you do head off to college, and whatever?" I nod into his shirt, and Edward puts his hands on the back of my neck. "Because... no matter what happens, once we do inevitably go out separate ways, despite the fact I... I love you, you're still family to me. You're the only family I've got left, all right? At least, give me the chance to see you if I can't ever be with you." I nod, and start crying again. He kisses my head. "Thank you," he whispers. "It's all I ask. No more pushing. No more anything, I promise."

"You need to move on. You need to let me go, and find someone else. You can't let my feelings for you predict how you live your life! There are so many opportunities for you out there, a lot of girl's who would be interested. Worthy girls. I can't make myself have feelings for you, I just can't! We've grown up in the same household together for so long, and I just... I can't see you any other way!"

"And I accept that now." His voice is just as quiet, and forlorn, as mine. "And I will. But you'll just have to accept that there won't be anyone in my life. I'm not afraid of being alone. I invite it, I don't care!"

"I do care about you! I do!" I lay my cheek against his shoulder, and he hugs me tight. "I want you to be happy, I don't want to make you feel upset or rejected because of me!"

"I know you care about me, and you always have. Just not in the way I care about you. I know that now, and I'll accept it. Whatever you want. I just... I want you in my life. Even if that means being a sister to me, then fine. Whatever you want. I just want to be... in your life, I want to have a part in it. I want you to be in mine, and whether you're with somebody else... it doesn't matter to me! Because I... I care about your feelings, more than mine! I want you to be happy, and I want to see you smile, because I love it when you do! And if it can't be me that makes you smile, then at least I get to see another person do the job! I don't care!" His voice is soft and low, and when I turn my head to look at him, tears are rolling down his face, too. He strokes my hair, and gives me a small smile. "I don't care anymore."

I realize then, and it makes it all the more painful to ingest. He would have been the absolute perfect person for me... unconditional. But it just can't be, not in this life, not in this way. It's too late. Had I met him years older, and under different circumstances... there might have been a possibility. I close my eyes tightly, feeling the tears that cling to them. And then I move my head more closer to his, putting my face near his. And then there is just his breathing in a constant, despairing line, warm and ragged, and then there is my lips parting and his and usually I would be reeling from ever getting this close to him, and then this is letting go and maybe this is acknowledging the truth that I do care about him, in some unexplainable way my heart and mind completely failed to realize.


	20. A Lacking Substitute

_**I own nothing to do with Twilight. Never have, never will :)**_

_**I want to thank you all so much for your kind reviews! I am going on a different route in this one, this chapter will be in Tanya's P.O.V. I hope you won't hate me for this, but... this is Edward's desperation in "moving on". And yes, he can get a little violent. I just really wanted to show behind the scenes of how he can be towards another. I know Tanya is a bit strange, also; I had fun with her P.O.V. **_

_**Hope you still enjoy it, next chapter we will be back in Bella's P.O.V :-)**_

_**I apologize again if it comes as a total disappointment, feel free to let me know what you think! Thank you all to the moon and back, for being so amazing! I love you all, and I truly loved reading your thoughts! Thank you for the emails also (to those who sent them!) Hope you are all well! x**_

_**P.S: Please be gentle with me! ;)**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>_

_**TANYA:**_

The man comes into the bar I'm waitressing at just after six-thirty in the evening. There is something about him instantly recognizable to me; A certain melancholy in the way he holds himself. And then, it occurs to me, when he dashes straight up to me and I get a chance of seeing him more closely.

My stomach lurches, because I _know_ that face. I can't exactly remember his name, because it's been a while. But he had certainly made an everlasting impression on me that night he invited me back to his house for sex. Calling a woman by another woman's name... it was unforgivable. _Unforgettable_. I feel my hand and fingers clench over the knife I'm holding, slicing up some lemons. I almost want to stab him for his sheer callousness that night.

"Ooh, _you_ again." I wipe my hands on a dish-rag, blowing a bubble of my Strawberry gum I'm chewing through my lips. It snaps and pops loudly. "You got some nerve coming here and showing your face to me!

He looks around the bar, with a certain expression of solemn desperation that's concerning. "Yeah, it's _me_. Do you think I could actually borrow you for a minute? It'll only take a second of your time."

I hesitate, eyeing him disdainfully. Yeah, the guy definitely has some nerve. Something about him sets my teeth on edge. Especially after that dreadful night spent together. Well, almost spent together. I didn't even know what I was thinking. Guess alcohol does that to a girl, though. "Depends," I shrug. "You gonna call me by a different name again, like that night? Hmm?"

His severe expression softens and he gives a tragic, abashed smile. "Look, as I said. I'm sorry about that. I was actually coming here to ask if you'd maybe wanna come out to dinner with me tonight? It's about time I started dating."

Without thinking, I accept, stunned. There is just something about this man. Something... sad and lonely in him. A certain vulnerability. You just want to cuddle him and eat him all up, in no particular order.

* * *

><p>Dinner goes well, at least far more than my expectations at first.<p>

He manages to call me by the right name, and says all the right things. Which brought us here, to his house. It's quiet and most of the lights are off. I gather the impression he lives alone now, not like before, when he had explained to me he lives with his parent's still. He still tells me to keep quiet when we slip into his bedroom, as though he's worried someone might overhear, whoever that person might be.

After sex, we lay, sated, and I get to wondering whether I want to see this man again. He certainly gives good sex. Good kisses, too. But even after sex, he still manages to retain some of that miserable countenance. I thought sex was supposed to cheer any man? _Clearly not._

He is still and silent as a boring chunk of wood, as he lies on his back against the pillow, trying to regain his breath. He stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. He never looks at me, nor does he bother to acknowledge me, after a very long and distracted moment. It is almost as if his inner thoughts and troubles have whisked him away, to somewhere else, somewhere not in this... bed, after having indulged in some pretty intense sex with me. His lips are pinched tight into a frown, and his thick and bushy eyebrows are back into what seems their permanent setting, of worry.

I lean up onto my elbow and run my hand down his bare chest slowly. At last, he seems to snap out of whatever agonising thoughts he is having, and he bothers to drag his eyes down from the ceiling and onto me. _About time; I was starting to fret he was expecting me to get up, get dressed, and leave him be._

"Well, _did you_ enjoy that?" I ask hopefully. He nods wordlessly, and licks his lips. "You did? Well, you don't look too happy about it?"

"Sorry." He raises his hands and rubs at his eyes with his palms. "I was just... thinking."

"About what? You're a big thinker, aren't you? Not _even_ sex can stop those thoughts, can it?"

"I have to move on," he mumbles deeply in his hands. It comes out half-muffled, so I don't know whether I've heard correctly or not. "I _have_ to. _She_ wants it this way."

"You_ what_?"

He yawns, lets his hands fall from his face. Then he reaches over, twists his fingers through my hair, and smiles up at me gently. It distracts me wonderfully. "You know, you ought to consider dying your hair brown." He says it so tenderly, so sweetly.

"Oh, _really_?" I tease, playfully. "You didn't seem too worried about it a few minutes ago?"

"I like brunettes more," he explains seriously. _Whatever floats your boat, I guess._ "I would even consider having you as my... girlfriend, if you were brunette."

I laugh. "Are you really_ that_ particular?"

He holds my gaze, in earnest hopefulness.

"I _am_." He runs his thumb underneath the crease of my left eye. "And then... you should get eye-contacts, and you should be dark-eyed."

Now he was fooling with me, surely. I nudge him in the chest with my hand, grinning widely to show I get the jest very clearly. "_Ha-ha_. I'm sure you like me _exactly_ the way I am, otherwise you wouldn't have slept with me!"

"What does any of that have to do with sleeping with somebody? If I was truly desperate, I _could_. And _easily_." I gasp, feigning offense. I _am_ insulted, in some sense. But I'm far too much in a good mood to bother even fighting the point across to him. "But no matter. Even with your hair dark, and your eyes dark... you'd still be lacking." My heart deflates. "You are_ not_ her, and you never will be. But I _still_ want you, anyway." Overlooking the first part, I try to hide the upset I feel, and force myself into keeping the grin on my face.

_He still wants me anyway._

* * *

><p>I wake the next morning, and for a moment there, I completely forget just where I am. Messy floor covered in dirty clothes, books, bottles. All I have to do is turn and see the man who is sleeping beside me, and instantaneously, I recall every single thing. I forgot that I had stayed over the night, with this strange and peculiarly blunt Edward. I smile to myself, as I rise to my feet, and step over the mess littering his floor. What I need, <em>right now<em>, is the bathroom... and _urgently_. I snatch one of Edward's old wrinkly shirts off the floor, and slip it on so I'm not entirely naked.

I feel about ready to burst and leak all over my legs. I tiptoe my way out of his room hurriedly, and find the first door down the hallway. It is nowhere near what you would call the bathroom. It looks like a little girl's room; neat and organized. Funny that there was no little girl in it, but the bed looked recently made up.

I never thought Edward lived with anyone anymore. He certainly hadn't told me so- or bothered to even mention it, no less- last night.

Shivering in Edward's thin shirt, I inspect her dresser curiously. Notepad. A Biology textbook. Pens, pencils, and erasers. _How cute._ Idly, I wonder how old she is. _If she's any blessed with the looks of her brother, I bet she'd be just a-_

"What _the fuck_ are you doing in here, Tanya?" His voice erupts behind me, so unexpectedly, so thunderous, I almost jolt an inch into the air like a startled cat over it. I assumed he was still sleeping in his room. "Did I _say_ that it was okay for you to go into any one of the rooms? I don't believe I fucking did!"

I don't know whether to explain over his harsh language, or whether to get insulted.

"Jesus Christ!" I tighten his flannel shirt over myself. "What are you so angry for? Is this... _her_ room?" He has told me briefly during the night while we were snuggling, about his mother's recent passing, but he didn't really like talking about it and how he felt to me. Couldn't exactly blame him, though. Honestly, at the time, I was too preoccupied on other things.

"Just why the fuck are you in here?" He's almost yelling with fierce vehemence. "I told you not to go into any of the rooms!" Obviously, that doesn't extend to him. He brushes past me and scoots over to the edge of the made bed. He runs his hand over the pink sheet, almost like a man petting his cherished dog. "You just shouldn't be in here, all right? She's so superior to anyone else. Just don't go tainting it!"

"Yeah, well. I never even fucking touched anything!" Never have I seen a man ever get so agitated over something so insignificant before. It's frightening. "Jesus!"

He squints up at me through the morning light seeping through the opened curtains blindly. "Just don't, all right?" And then, slowly, he stretches out on the bed on his back. He reaches behind his head, snatches one of the pillows up, and brings it over his head. He gives out a few loud sniffs.

He seems so powerfully affected about me stepping into his dead mother's room, that I can't even find it within myself to question him about it. I'm overcome with pity. For a moment, fearfully, I start to think he has forgotten all about me. He is so engrossed in the pillow- his irregular and deep breathing into the pillow shows for it. But then he says, gently, "Go back into my room. I'll be with you in a minute, Tanya."

"Look, Edward, I'm real sorry." I begin miserably. "I didn't know stepping inside your mother's room would hurt you so much, I was simply... curious!" He pays me no attention; He places the pillow back down on top of the other, hops off the bed, and walks around the room, absorbed; affectionate curiosity in his stride.

I feel a little sick, as I stand there. He moves on to pick up a hair brush, inspecting it with intrigue. I feel almost as if I am invading in something personal, in something intimate, so I have to bring myself to turn away and head back into his messy bedroom. Never have I known a man to be so messy; There are a few old beer bottles lying around. Pictures. Old photographs. On his shelf across from the bed, thousands of old books, dusty and appearing untouched for months. Deodorant, unwashed pairs of underwear on the floor trailing to his bed. One photograph, curled around the edges, with scribbled, neat writing on the back of it;

_Bella Edward._

_Edward Bella._

_Bella Cullen. Edward Cullen._

It went on like that around the white back of the photo, in various alterations to the names.

_Bedward._

_Esabella._

The ill feeling inside of me increases. I wonder just who this Bella girl is, and what she is to him. I remember the first night he invited me over, and it comes back to me again, crushing me. He had cried out that exact name: _"Oh, God. Bella, yes!"_

Who is this girl to him? I wonder. Does she know what he feels about her? What is it about her that he likes so much? I catch myself wondering what this girl looks like, and I find that out, and quickly, as I turn the photograph carefully over with gentle fingers.

She wasn't what I was expecting, at all; She is young, she looks terribly underage. Why would a guy like Edward go nuts over a young girl, unless he likes that type of thing? Very odd. Even observing the way he is looking at her in the photo, he looks a completely different man than the one who I spent the night with.

She has dark eyes, long brown hair. He has his head turned to her in the photo, and he looks so happy as he stares down at her, slightly forlornly. I detect a whole lot of affection for the young girl. _Who is she to him? Or is she dead, too- like the mother?_

I hear his scuffled footsteps and quickly drop the photo before he enters. Who knows how he'll react even to that? He would probably start screaming at me, and demanding I leave. By the time he enters, I've already moved back onto the bed. Wearing his shirt, somehow, makes me feel marginally better.

"Come back to bed?" I offer, hopefully.

He grunts out a half-hearted confirmation, and soon after, we are lying back underneath the sheets of his bed, the early morning light covers our skins, warming us. He has his chest pressed against me, he is dozing, skin to skin, while unfortuantely for me, I am as awake and restless as a newborn. I can't help but fret about this girl. But then, she may have meant something to him back then, in the past, and now... it doesn't matter. _What matters, is that I am here, I am the one in bed with him, not her. Ha-ha, take that, Bella, whoever you are, whatever you are._ She's probably a girl he was crushing on ages ago. After a while, I sense he is awake again, because he murmurs something into the back of my neck that I don't quite catch. His voice is too soft, too husky.

"What?"

"I was wondering, would you wanna be my girlfriend?"

I can't help the satisfied smile that stretches out across my lips._ That's what I thought. Double take that, Bella, bitch... whoever you are. You're history now. He may have been pining over you at one stage, but he is obviously over you now, and he is asking _me_ to be his girlfriend_. Still, I can't help my doubts.

"Really? You want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Um-hmm. I guess. Why not."

I ponder his tone of voice for a while. He doesn't really sound concerned, either way. I slowly sit up, and turn to face him, propped up on an elbow. He turns his head up to meet my gaze. "I was wondering... who is this Bella girl?" To my dismay, his expression shifts and changes dramatically. Everything about him darkens, especially that mood. He looks almost like a violent, sexy animal, ready to drag me down and devour me whole. "I think I have a right to know. You owe an explanation, especially after the first time when you... you called out her name to me when we almost had sex the first time I came here!"

He sits up slowly, climbs over me, and pushes me backwards gently down onto the mattress. He's so handsome, so charming. His hair is so wild when he wakes. I kind of like that. His eyes hold my own intensely, as he leans down over me. He puts his face inches from mine. Surprisingly, I find I would desire nothing more than to fuck him again, but this time wildly... _roughly_.

"Why did you have to go and spoil everything by saying that name?" he asks, in a quiet and sad whisper. "You shouldn't. It has the possibility of tainting everything. It plagues my soul... my very mind, that name and the image alone."

"Why not?" I prompt, eagerly. He passes a hand over his face and sighs down at me. "Who _is_ she to you?"

"Who is she to me?" He repeats gently, running his eyes down my face thoughtfully. "She is... literally _everything_ to me,_ that_ is _who_ she is." I catch my breath; I wasn't expecting that at all. "She is the... end all, and the be-all. She is... the love of my life, and also, the _death_ of it. She is..." His talking increases quicker and quicker by the second, and harsher and louder. His cheeks are trembling in anger... torment. I want to cover my eyes. I want crawl away and cower in fear. "... _everything_ that you will never possibly be. She is... untouchable, and no other can... or _will_... replace her. She is superior to all others- even _you_." His eyes shine down at me, vindictively...cruelly. "_That_ is what she is to me, so I suggest you _do not_ speak of her name!"

Somberly, and without warning, he wraps his hand around my throat, shoving me deeper into the mattress, the bed squeaking. My throat tightens, and I can hear my heart pounding. My eyes widen, as he turns his head down at me, looking me over lividly, like I am a disgraceful creature. _Oh my God. Oh God, he is going to kill me! He is going to strangle me!_

"_That_ is what she means to me," he squeezes out brutally through gritted teeth, "and that is what_ no other_ will mean to me. Do not go into this thinking I will ever hold any semblance of love for you, if you agree to be my girlfriend, do you understand? It isn't possible._ Not_ for _you_. So, don't get some stupid idea inside your head that it ever will transpire between us, when it won't."


	21. Trying to be Better

Hey all!

I know it's been such a long time, and I'm so sorry.

Gosh, time has gone so quickly. I hope you all are well!

And so sorry for this long and overdue update to the story. If you're still interested, I'll update weekly again until it reaches its conclusion. I won't leave it long again!

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><p>Chapter Twenty-One<p>

**Bella POV**

It's weird; When I get home from school, hefting my heavy textbooks in my arms, I hear loud music pumping out of Edward's room from his stereo. It floats all throughout the house, making the window frames tremble. Edward's clearly home, and he's clearly not alone.

Closing the door carefully behind me, I bite down on my lip as I tiptoe through the hallway, trying to find him. And, surely enough, there he is, in the living room. My first suspicions are in fact confirmed correct, once I see the woman sitting on the couch with him. The pair of them look as if they have been up to no good; Their clothes are wrinkled and they both look equally as flushed as one another. Edward's hair is unkempt and messy and so is hers, like they've been rolling around in bed all day. Considering how dopey-eyed and giddy the woman looks as she whispers something in Edward's ear, I figure it must be true. One of his arms is slung around her shoulders casually and he laughs at whatever it was that she had whispered to him.

The music from the stereo is so loud I can hardly hear what they are talking about at all. And really, I probably didn't even want to know.

They don't even turn to look at me as I stand there in the entryway, staring at them. It's as if I truly don't exist. Giving up as soon as I try to capture their attention, I turn around and clomp my way upstairs, heading straight up to my room. I dump all my textbooks into the middle of my bed, stow my bag away under my bed, and rush into Edward's bedroom to turn the music down quickly.

Heading into his bedroom, first thing I take notice of is the crumpled and unmade bed, the pillows on the floor. A bra's on the floor- probably belonging to the blonde-haired woman he's currently snuggling up to downstairs. Turning down the music a decent notch, I head back downstairs, taking it two steps at a time.

And, finally, I've gotten their attention. The two both look my way as I enter the living room. Edward quickly removes his arm from around her shoulder and sits up slightly, seperating himself from her on the couch. What for, I have no idea.

The woman is the first to speak. "Oh, hey," she says, rather awkwardly. She shakes the strands of her peroxide blonde hair out of her eyes. "We didn't hear you get in."

"That's understandable. I mean, the music was pretty loud, wasn't it?" The woman has an air of familiarity to me, for some reason. I don't think I've ever truly met her before, but she somehow strikes me as very familiar. It's only when she climbs off the sofa and stands, that I think I realize.

Oh, of course. She's that same woman Edward brought home one late night when drunk. She's super tall and since she's just wearing one of Edward's flannel shirts that hangs just below her thighs, it accentuates those toned and slender, pale legs. That same enviousness I felt apon seeing her the first time hits me again. I'm not necessarily sure why I feel so jealous of her, but I'm presuming it has to do with how good she looks, like a Russian model of some sort. That's purely it.

"You must be the infamous Bella, huh?" she says, with something there in her tone.

She looks back at Edward from where he sits on the couch and, automatically, I do too, following her gaze. Edward isn't looking at either of us; In fact, he's sitting up, elbows on his knees, hands folded and resting near his face. He's staring at a spot on the ground, almost like he wishes he'd magically disappear from this situation altogether. I think he looks vaguely embarrassed by this whole thing. Then again, I can't be too sure.

"Anyway. Um, I'm Tanya," the woman goes on, stepping closer and extending a hand out towards me. This evidently must feel as awkward on her as it is for me. Forcing a smile, I shake her hand. "I know it's probably weird; You coming home and finding me here like this."

I don't know where she got that idea from. It isn't weird at all. If anything, I'm glad Edward has company with him, even of the female kind. "No, no weirdness at all," I assure her. "If anything, I'm real glad."

"Oh, well. That's good to hear." She laughs, stunning me by the sound of it. Her laughter is hard not to like, but at the same time, it is immediately grating. Her laugh sure doesn't suit her looks; Her laughter is high-pitched, and while infectious, I can't help but be reminded of a hyena.

I throw a look Edward's way again, and I see his eyes close briefly, as if he himself knows the sound of her laughter is horrific. Due to it, I can't help laughing along with her weakly.

Tanya ends up staying for dinner. She manages to convince us into letting her cook us a meal so I stick around, helping out with knowing where everything is in the kitchen. Sometimes I'll catch her looking at me in a funny way, like she's envious of me in return or something strange like that. What reason she'd have to be envious of me, I have no idea. Edward eventually excuses himself from us to go take a shower and, honestly, I'm thankful for a moment alone with her. I want to know what is happening between her and Edward- whether it be any of my business or not. I guess I just want to make sure he is going to be okay.

"So," Tanya starts casually while tossing around some sizzling onions in the frying pan.

"So?"

"So, Bella. I hear you're in your final year of high school? How's that going for you?"

"Yeah, alright. Nerve-wracking, though."

"Oh, I bet it would be. You got any idea where you're planning to go for college? You started applying for anything as yet?"

"Not yet. I'm kind of still... undecided. It's a big decision." It's nice having someone different to talk to, even though I don't quite know where it is that we stand. Or what she's doing hanging around Edward, no less. "Where did you go for college?"

"I didn't," she says distractedly, adding some veggies into the pan. She insisted on making us a chicken stirfry, her supposed specialty. Already, it smells super good. "I wasn't very good at the whole school thing. In fact, I was so eager for it to end." She laughs her hyena laugh again. "I'm currently waitressing full-time. The pays pretty decent and you get a lot of cute customers in, so that's the main thing. The cuter the guys are, the more willing they are to give you bigger tips, I've found." At this, she turns and winks at me, like we're two close friends sharing an inside joke.

"Is that how you and Edward met initially?"

"Oh, no. We met at a nightclub on my day off. Then he came back to where I work, and he suggested we head out to dinner. Honestly, I was suprised he wanted anything to do with me again. He didn't seem much... into me before." I grab the chicken breast we have in the fridge and help her with slicing it up finely. When I hand them over to her on the chopping board, I see her give me that look again. "Fuck, I'm starving. Well, I don't know about Edward, but... I am. You hungry?"

"Yeah." I watch as she pushes all the chicken into the pan. I can't help myself from asking, so I just do. "What do you think of him? Of Edward, I mean? Do you like him?"

"Well, he's hot, of course he is." She says it like a guy's hotness is the most important thing. "He seems pretty... lonely and in himself though. What's all that about?"

"In himself" would be the last thing I'd describe Edward as. I'm surprised she thinks that, though. "I don't know," I say hesitantly. "I suppose it's been pretty tough. Our parents died pretty recently."

"Oh, yeah. Edward told me briefly about it. Both my parents are still alive. I can only just imagine how it must feel, how much it must fuck you up..." Tanya clearly loves the sound of her voice. As if realizing she's somehow being rude, she gasps and gives me an apologetic look. "Sorry. God, sometimes I don't think before I speak. Of course it'd be hard. How are you coping?"

"I'm alright," I answer shortly. I don't see how she can really care, either way.

"Um, I feel like I should probably tell you. Edward kind of maybe asked me to be his girlfriend," she says reluctantly, like she's worried I'd mind. And I don't.

Well, okay, I kind of do. After all that we've been through, I want Edward to be with someone who truly makes him happy. Judging by his reaction when she laughed before, I'd say he already can't stand the sound of it. I can't help feeling a little shocked that Edward actually asked her to be his girlfriend. I know my mouth is hanging open and my heart stops for a single second over the announcement before the feeling fades just as quickly. Tanya is watching my face carefully, waiting for me to say my piece. I cover up whatever it is I'm feeling by wiping my hands on a tea-towel quickly, despite my hands being clean anyway.

"Is that okay with you? I... I don't know what's going between you two, but I- I hope that-"

"Please, there is nothing going on between Edward and I," I tell her quickly, wanting to make it perfectly clear on her. "There is nothing at all. And I'm glad. I know Edward has been... upset over our parents. I think it's great that he's finally decided to date someone. So long as you're going to make him happy?"

"Well, I know I really like him. He's... complicated and hard to get through to, but I like him enough. He seems a decent guy. But I also do know that he is pretty intense about you, which is kind of... weird? Do you know how he feels about you? Apparently, in his eyes, when it comes to you, no one can hold a candle to you." I feel ill at her words. Does she know? Did Edward somehow speak to her about me? Really, I can't believe why he would. Or, no less, why she'd stick around, if she even began to know the half of the story.

I have to look away from her. I have to avoid her eyes completely.

"Yeah, he's always been pretty... intense about me. I know, trust me." Intense seems such an understatement. "But this is really what he needs. He needs someone like you. Someone to... make him happy and keep his mind off other things. He needs someone to love him. I'm sincerely so pleased for you both." As if right on cue, Edward returns from his long shower, his hair dripping wet and combed back. I can't be sure if he knows what we're talking about, but its obvious he notices how quiet the two of us have gotten now that he has returned back into the room. He looks between us, his eyes lingering on my face.

"Are you two getting along well? Any cat-fights yet?"

It's funny; It's like he is almost pretending to be a different person in front of Tanya, almost. Like a completely normal, cheerful type of person. One that isn't so fixated on me.

Tanya laughs and Edward winces at the sound. He definitely isn't a fan of her laugh, I can tell.

"Actually, I just got the okay from Bella. I think it's safe to say we're in the clear. I told you that you were worrying over nothing. See?"

I see Edward raise his eyebrows at her back, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. I know him well enough now to know he isn't pleased that she's told me. "You told her?" He's concealing how he's feeling well, considering. "You told Bella?"

"Yeah." Tanya shrugs, her back still facing us. "I thought I'd just go and get it over with. I thought you'd be cool with that? Are you?"

"Yeah, it's... fine. Whatever."

I can tell it totally isn't, judging by his expression. But Tanya obviously can't notice that.

Once dinner is prepared, the three of us sit at the table, and I feel oddly enough as if I'm the third wheel here. Tanya laughs constantly and tries to engage in light-hearted conversation with Edward, trying to get him to open up and flirt with her, but he clearly isn't having that. No, he seems sullen and moody all throughout dinner, pushing his pieces of chicken around on his plate. I, for one, happen to find her stirfry really delicious. I polish mine off completely, and Tanya seems pleased by that. I'm still not entirely sure what to make of her; She's definitely not what either Edward or I am used to. She's loud, constantly making conversations, and her laughter is permanent and always there, lingering in the air between us like a bad smell. But maybe she is exactly what Edward needs? Someone completely opposite than the type of personality he has? I don't know.

He makes it clear on us that he's still stewing over Tanya telling me when he gets up from his seat, heads over to the sink, and loudly drops his plate and cutlery in so that it makes a big noise. Then he briskly leaves the room without so much as another word and, to my astonishment, while I feel rather nervous over it and tense, Tanya just laughs and brushes it off carefreely.

"Someone's in a bad mood, huh? Wonder what's crawled up his ass all of a sudden?"

"No idea," I tell her, shrugging it off. But I think I do know.

And, suddenly, I find myself concerned about Tanya. I hope Edward won't go too hard on her once she's upstairs alone with him. I wonder if I should warn her, but that option is blown out of the window when she puts her dish in the sink, tells me goodnight and that it was nice meeting me, and off she goes, upstairs, possibly inviting herself into a storm of Edward's moodswings.

Hopping up, I tuck all chairs in neatly and start washing up the dishes and cutlery, all the while trying to listen carefully for any shouting or horrible noises from upstairs. To my relief, none come, so I assume everything is alright with Edward now.

When I heard upstairs towards my room, I see that his rooms door is completely closed. I go into my room, get changed into my sleep pants and a baggy top, but I don't feel like sleeping at all. I feel too nervous and... ill with worry somehow. So instead, I try to distract myself with reading for awhile, wrapped up in my blankets. By the time one o'clock comes in the morning, I'm still wired and buzzing. And thirsty. Thirsty as hell.

Pulling on some socks, I sneak out of my room and head downstairs as quietly as possible, fearing waking both Tanya and Edward up. I get into the dark kitchen, pull a glass out from the cupboard, and pour myself a long glass of water. I'm just halfway through it when I hear the scuffling sound of someone's feet coming down the stairs and I freeze against the sink.

The kitchen light turns on suddenly, blinding me, and then Edward's there, standing stock-still, blinking at me. He's half asleep, his bluish-green eyes heavy-lidded. His shirt is unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his chest, and he's only wearing his boxers. Clearly we both decided to come down at the wrong time. I force myself to look away, blinking down at my socks awkwardly. He says nothing; Just moves around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water himself. I guess we both ended up being pretty thirsty then. I hear him swallowing down his water loudly, and then he reaches over me again to fill himself another glass.

"Can't sleep?" he finally speaks, his voice throaty.

"No. I don't even feel tired, for some reason."

"Yeah, well. You and me both then." I peer at the contents inside my glass so I don't have to look at him, when he turns and leans near me with his back against the sink. "What do you think of her?"

I fail, glacing up at his face in confusion. "Think of who?"

"Who do you think?" He gives me a slight smile before he gulps down the last of his second drink of water. He rolls his eyes. "Tanya, of course."

"I haven't really made up any opinion of her yet. The stirfry she made was really good, though."

"What do you think of her laugh?" Edward shakes his head at me, something mocking in his expression. "Jesus. Isn't her laugh enough to drive you fucking nuts? At least she doesn't laugh in her sleep. Thank God for that, otherwise I'd be seriously tempted to snuff her out with a pillow."

Despite myself, I can't help laughing. "Oh, come on. It isn't that bad. I think she's actually quite lovely. I think she's nice."

He chokes out a small laugh, raising his eyebrows at me, as if to say, _You think she's nice? Yeah, right!_

I don't understand why he wants to know my opinion of her so much. What should it matter, what I think of her? Shouldn't he be more concerned with himself, and whether he truly likes her or not, enough to start seriously having her as his girlfriend?

"Do you like her? Are you happy to have her as your girlfriend?"

Something flickers across his face, but I'm not sure what. I might be mistaken, but this is obviously one question he isn't happy with me asking. He sets his empty glass down in the sink and runs his hands through his hair, sighing loudly. He seems uncomfortable and he takes a long minute to answer, licking his lips and staring at my face thoughtfully. "I don't know." He shrugs. "What does it matter, whether I like her or not?"

"What do you mean, what does it matter?" I laugh out loud, bewildered. "It means everything. After all, you're the one asking her to be your girlfriend, right? You're the one that is going to be spending most of your time with her. You have to like her, especially since you asked her to be your girlfriend, right?" Without thinking what I'm doing, I nudge him gently with my shoulder, laughing again. "Clearly you _do_ like her."

"With a laugh like that? I don't even know if I can even stand another fucking minute surrounded by that laugh! I mean, could you?"

It feels wrong, meeting up and talking about her like this. It's sort of mean to her; To make fun of Tanya's laugh, and to talk about her behind her back. But it's true. "If you truly can't stand her that much, like you say you do, then... why get with her in the first place?" The instance that question flings out of my mouth, I come to a sudden understanding.

I had told Edward to move on. That I wanted him to be happy, to find a girl who would actually love him for him. Who could. _Is that why he did this?_ Just because I said all of that? Because I've been saying that over and over constantly lately? That I wish he'd find someone? No. I don't want to think that's it. I want it to be because Edward feels he's ready, that he came to that decision all by himself. He's ready to let me go, to move on, like it should be.

Because he truly is interested in Tanya. Not because of something I said or did.

"I mean, you do actually like her, don't you, Edward? You're not just... tagging her along for the sake of it, are you? Because if you are, then it's a big dickhead move. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know that." We're both leaning against the kitchen counter, leaning on each other, our shoulders touching. "And I _do_ like her. She has her... moments." Edward looks me straight in the eye, so I can do nothing but believe him on this. "She's... bubbly and happy. It's just her laugh that bugs me the most. She laughs _every five_ fucking minutes. That can't be normal, right?" It's maybe not normal, not for us. I guess we equally don't laugh very much. He sighs loudly through his nostrils and closes his eyes, rubbing his lids with his fingers. Suddenly he appears exhausted. Pale, in the light. So exhausted and drained by everything. "I mean, she's nice. I know that without a doubt. But she's... she's not..." He opens his eyes and hesitates, folding his arms over his chest tightly. His jaw clenches and twitches. I can tell he is really struggling to get the words out right. "I don't know." He looks at me again, suddenly helpless. "She's just not... someone."

I arch my eyebrows at him. "Someone? Meaning- what?"

Edward laughs again. "I don't know. She's just not... someone."

There's something in the air, some sadness with where our conversation has turned to. I don't quite understand the source of it, but I'm eager to brush it off. "Well, anyway. I'm pleased for you. I just... I guess I want you to be happy. And for... everything to be good between us. Just like... how it should be."

"I'm getting there." He nods once, bowing his head, looking at his forearms. "I think I'm... getting there. Slowly. I mean, I'm trying. Trying to be... better."

I smile at him weakly. "Then I'm glad." I nudge him again with my shoulder and finally, he smiles a little. Sort-of mission accomplished. Then I spot the time on the stove, and push myself off the counter. "Crap. I better try to get some sleep otherwise I'll end up falling asleep during class tomorrow."

I lean in to kiss Edward on his cheek, to say goodnight, to reassure him that I care. But then it's sort of timed wrong, he moves his head to look at me with something shining there in his eyes, and I end up kissing him accidently on the mouth. I gasp and quickly move back, Edward leans off the counter towards me, eyes on my lips heatedly, and then it's so awkward. Pressing my lips together, I duck my head as I race out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to my room quickly.

**Hope you enjoyed this and are still interested in the story?**

**I'm so sorry. Goodness me, I couldn't remember my password so it was so frustrating not being able to log on and update. I've been stuck busy in RL too, so I'm sorry! Hoping you all had a fantastic Christmas and are into an exciting New Year. Thank you all so much for the alerts and reviews I've received, it means a lot, particularly when this story is a bit freaky and Edward very psychologically disturbed. Rereading my own story was a weird experience but hopefully all the craziness will be toned down quite a bit, and Edward will gradually get past his mental issues and calm down for Bella (with Tanya a somewhat inspiring influence on that). Thank you so much, and hopefully I'll update in another week. **


	22. Undermining his responsibility

**_Thank you guys so much! Hoping you enjoy this one! :) I loved all your comments, they are very much appreciated. Feel free to let me know your thoughts on this one!_**

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><p><strong><em>C<em>****_hapter Twenty-Two_**

I have a disturbing dream that night.

Even though I wake up in my bed and I'm fully aware it was only just a dream, it still takes me a good few seconds to fully appreciate and come to terms with it only being a dream and not real. I had a dream that Charlie was taking me for a drive in his station wagon. No, not just me- but Edward and Tanya, too. For some reason Tanya was dead in the backseat and Edward had her blood all over his hands and smeared all over the white shirt he was wearing in the dream, but still, neither Charlie nor I seemed to care or comment over the dead body in the backseat. Which is really weird. Why would we not try to do something about the dead body in the backseat?

How strange. My reaction over the dream is confusing. I feel terrified, and that terror still lingers deep inside of me, making my skin feel all hot and clammy. But what I also feel, is mainly happiness. Not happiness over the idea of Tanya being dead, I don't think. But for seeing Charlie in the dream.

It's the first dream I think I have ever had of my father, since what happened with the accident. I was even starting to fear that I was somehow forgetting what Charlie looked like. Apparently not, thanks to the dream.

It's nice to see him again. Even if Tanya is dead in the backseat and Edward obviously the culprit responsible for it, if the blood on him is anything to go by. Now I feel paranoid that that side of the dream is real; That Tanya is in fact dead. I even feel tempted to sneak out my bedroom to check and make sure it isn't true, that she's all right and is just safely sleeping in Edward's bedroom with him.

I almost laugh quietly at myself, over how ridiculous I am being. Why on earth would I think it could ever be true? That Edward would somehow be capable of murdering someone? I think I know Edward well enough, and I'm absolutely positive he isn't capable of committing murder, strange and sad as he is occassionally. At least, I hope not.

I sit up against my pillow, trying to regulate my breathing. The hair on the nape of my neck and the strands feels all itchy and damp thanks to the sweat I'm covered in, so I gather all my hair in my hands and tie it up tightly.

_Charlie._

If anyone told me a year ago that I wouldn't have him around anymore, I would have made sure I spent a lot more time with him before it happened. It's been months since Esme and Charlie died and still, it feels as if I haven't properly been given the time to get over them. Maybe you never get over it, though?

I really wish the dream had been true though. I feel a sudden overwhelming sadness pierce through me as I sit there up against my pillows, in the pitch-dark of my room. How unfair it is, that the dream wasn't true. That Charlie isn't really here anymore, that he won't offer me rides in his stationwagon anymore. It feels like it never gets any better, the loss and missing someone.

It's my eighteenth birthday in two weeks time. And am I excited about it? No, excitement is the last of what I am feeling. Mostly, I'm reluctant for the day to come, impassive, hardly caring at all. It'll just be another day; My eighteenth birthday. And I'm dreading it, honestly. Because, somewhere in the back of my mind, I always have the reminder that it will be my first birthday without Charlie or Esme there. Every birthday, as sort of a family tradition we quickly adopted, we'd all go to La Push Beach, we'd get ice-cream and have a dip in the water regardless of whether it was warm or not.

What is the point of celebrating when my father isn't going to be there to do it with me? It's just going to turn out to be a sad, miserable day, I know it.I really hope Edward won't bother planning anything for me. I'm not in the mood for surprises anymore. Some part of me is naively hoping he'll forget what day my birthday falls on, so that it can come and go quietly. I want no fuss, I don't want anything. No presents or birthday cake. Because without Charlie there to wish me happy birthday and to spend some time with, what's the point?

Before I'm truly even aware of it, I feel tears rolling down the corners of my eyes. Great, I'm crying. Fantastic. I wipe them away quickly on my wrists and suck in a deep breath. I really need to get over myself. People lose family members prematurely all the time, and they come out on the other side just fine, don't they?

But it is the biggest reason why I am dreading my upcoming birthday. Charlie won't be there, and it'll just make it all the more real somehow that he is gone and he won't ever be coming back. He won't be there to sing me happy birthday or shout me an icecream, or to just wish me luck in life anymore. I can't talk to him anymore or laugh with him. And that's the hardest thing about it of all; I can't spend time with him anymore, or see him smile, or feel his moustache scratch against me everytime he kisses my cheek goodbye. He's gone. He won't be coming back, not ever. He can't. And my eighteenth birthday is going to suck because of it.

But hey, on the bright side, at least I'm not completely alone.

I have Edward left, although he isn't truly my brother in any biological or blood-related sense of the word. But he's the closest thing I have to family left, despite how complicated it is between us. But I have the undeniable, strong conviction that things will change between us now, for the better.

Tanya's here now, which means he can take out whatever he is feeling about me on her. Transfer it all onto someone who is willing to be with him, and make him truly happy in life. Hopefully she'll calm him down, and hopefully- where I'm concerned- the weird looks and strange comments from him directed at me will stop forever now.

* * *

><p>When I wake up next morning to get ready for school, it feels as if I haven't slept at all. Which, is probably not far from the truth. My eyes feel grainy and heavy, and I feel like I'm on autopilot as I get changed for school, into a pair of black skinny legs jeans and a plain white T-shirt. I'm just sitting on my bed and tying up the shoelaces on my Converses when I hear movements from no doubt what is Edward's room. Tanya and Edward are evidently awake now. I hear them move downstairs as I grab my backpack and put all the textbooks I need in it for today's lessons at school.<p>

When I get downstairs, I drop my school bag near the front door in the hallway before doubling back to the kitchen for breakfast. I stop dead still automatically in the entryway to the kitchen the instance I see what the two are doing.

Tanya's trying to work out how to operate the coffee machine while Edward stands behind her. His hands are around her throat and he's shaking her vigorously, like how someone chokes someone brutually- or so I've seen that's how they do it in horror movies. She isn't gaging though, and she isn't making any noises that make it appear that she is threatened by it.

Before I start to get too concerned and afraid, Tanya makes it known its them being playful when she laughs loudly at what he is doing to her. Edward's expression isn't very reassuring, though. When he turns his head slightly to look back at me once I make my entrance in, his expression is meanly wry and dangerous somehow. His eyes light up at me. It's like it's a joke to Tanya, something playful and funny that he is doing to her, but with him... I don't know. That dream I had last night, that horrifying part with Tanya dying in it, comes back to me.

Clearly she's loving it. Me, not so much...

"Hey," I say awkwardly, feeling like an intruder in my own kitchen somehow. "Good morning."

Tanya makes a startled noise and forcefully uncurls Edward's hands from her throat, moving away to where our coffee mugs are deliberately instead in the cabinet.

"Hey, Bella," she says. "Did you sleep well?"

"I guess." I move towards the kitchen table, helping myself to a seat. It's clearly going to be a cold day today; It's dark and murky outside, and cold air leaks in through the kitchen window. I mentally remind myself to grab a jacket before I leave. "Did you sleep well?" I'm just trying to be pleasant and friendly. Erase the awkward atmosphere, somehow.

"I've had better nights. _Somebody_ was talking in their sleep while thrashing around restlessly." Tanya makes it perfectly clear just who that _somebody_ is, when she throws Edward a pointed half-serious look from over her shoulder.

"She's kidding," Edward says, rather petulantly. He pulls up a chair opposite me and sits, looking vaguely embarrassed. "I don't really talk in my sleep."

"Sure, you don't," Tanya laughs. "I'm pretty sure I heard you say something resembling Bella's name a couple of times. Having a vivid dream, were we?"

I feel my cheeks flush with heat as I scrutinize Edward. He meets my look with something unidentifiable in his expression as I raise my eyebrows at him. "Edward talks in his sleep?" It is pretty much news to me. It's weird, him saying my name in his sleep, though. "He was talking about me in his sleep?"

"Must have been." Tanya and I are both conspirators, enjoying making Edward feel embarrassed. He hides his embarrassment admirably well in making himself preoccupied with undoing the first button on the collar of his baby-blue business shirt, but I can still catch a bit of tension there in his eyes. He clearly isn't enjoying being gang-up on by both of us girls. "Why else would he be saying your name in his sleep?"

He makes a tutting noise through his teeth, shaking his head. His discomfort on the subject is almost palpable. "Come on, I don't talk in my sleep. You're being a bullshitter."

Tanya's still at it, laughing her hyena laugh. "You so do! He does, Bella. Trust me, I'm so not making this up! But don't worry. I thought it was pretty cute."

"Good for you," Edward mutters under his breath in irritation. He so isn't pleased and, on some sick level, I'm enjoying it; Tanya and I teaming up and making him feel embarrassed. It's hilarious.

"Charlie used to tell me that I talk in my sleep," I say, keeping the conversation going. "I was never sure if he was telling the truth or not, though. After all, how do you know if you are talking when your asleep?"

"Are you totally sure you two aren't truly brother and sister then?" Tanya says, kind of out of nowhere. I think both Edward and I feel equally uncomfortable on that comment. "Fancy that; Both of you being sleep-talkers. Wouldn't that be so fucking trippy if you both found out you were actually blood related?" She laughs quietly to herself as she approaches the table, setting down two steaming hot mugs of coffee for us both.

I thank her quietly, clasping my hands over the cup, still observing Edward's reaction. He actually looks very pissed off by what Tanya is saying, despite her good intentions. She obviously means it as a light-hearted joke, but Edward isn't seeing it that way; I can tell he is biting down on the tip of his tongue painfully with his teeth in order to prevent himself from shooting his mouth off at her angrily. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are flaring.

"We're not blood related, Tanya," he finally says after a long moment, and he bites the skin off the tip of his thumb with his teeth savagely. I can tell it's taking him all he is worth... "Can we drop this stupid conversation please?"

"Wow. You're definitely not a morning person." But she gets the vibe he is sending off completely and she smartly drops it, sitting in the seat next to him with a cup of coffee for herself. She turns her eyes on me. "Are you enjoying school, Bella?"

"It's okay. Sometimes it gets boring, especially biology class."

"Oh, God. That reminds me of why I hated high school in the first place. I always-"

Suddenly Edward is talking over her, leaning over the table towards me, "Make yourself some breakfast or make something to take for lunch." Tanya's offended by the rude butt-in, I can tell, and I can't blame her. But she mashes her lips together and sips on her coffee instead, letting Edward have his way.

"I'm good. I don't get hungry much during the day."

"Well, you should eat something. It's too long to go without food until dinner. Make something for breakfast now, at the very least." I despise the way he talks to me, in that tone; Bossy and demanding. Telling me what to do. Like he's my father, like he knows better. Like he has the right to order me around.

He has some nerve doing this in front of Tanya. "No, thank you," I say, more firmly. I'm not even hungry at all. "I'm happy waiting until I get home for dinner. If I'm hungry, I will." His face hardens and his eyes turn critical. I add quickly under my breath nervously, "But I'm not, so..."

"You're already thin enough as it is. Go make yourself something to take to school. I don't want all the food going to waste."

"Thin enough as it is?" I laugh shakily, turning my cup around and around with my fingers. "What, are you accusing me of being some anorexic or something now?"

"I never said you were anorexic," he hisses at me quietly. "When did I say you were anorexic? I said, to make yourself something for school in case you get hungry. How is that me implying that I believe you are anorexic?"

I cannot believe we are doing this. In front of Tanya, no less. It's mortifying.

"I'm seventeen years old, nearly eighteen," I point out, trying to keep calm. No way do I want to start an argument with Tanya here to overhear us. "I'm old enough to take care of myself, I don't need you bossing me around like I'm a little girl, Edward!"

He bursts out laughing abruptly. Outrage flashes in his eyes. "Bossing you around?"

I dart a look over at Tanya, feeling helpless. She's watching us fight. And it's so embarrassing. "God, can we not do this in front of Tanya, please? I mean, it's embarrassing enough, us even having this conversation." I succeed in keeping my voice level, but I hate the quivering to it. "You have no right to tell me what to do! Just stop trying to control me all the time! I'm a person, not a thing! If I want to get something to take to school, then I will out of my own will!"

"Yeah, well, Bella. If I could possibly control you, you would be eating four square meals a day!"

"I've had enough of this!" I say, getting to my feet quickly. I sip down my coffee hastily, throw the empty mug in the sink, and storm out of the kitchen to get my bag and leave. _God, I find it so easy to hate him sometimes. Who the hell does he think he is? If I'm hungry, I'll bother to get something. I don't need him giving me crap about it._ All the way out towards the door, I hear their whispered words.

"What the hell, Edward?" Tanya sounds appalled.

"_What_? What, now?" I can tell he is speaking through clenched teeth. "What did I do wrong?"

"She's right, she isn't a little girl," she argues, in my defense. And really, I'm grateful. At least she is capable of being rational. "If she wants something, she'll very well get it. Why are you like that with her? I mean, she just said she wasn't hungry. So why do that to her?"

"Excuse me for caring. I thought it's what I'm supposed to do?"

"You're completely overbearing on her. I get that you feel protective of her, and that you care, but... still. You don't have to boss her around and tell her what to do! She's practically an adult!" Tanya's hushed voice is determined to get him to understand, but Edward clearly isn't having that. Or no less finding it welcome, her opinion. I hear the legs of someone's chair give out a nasty scrape against the floor.

"Look, I don't need this, okay? I don't need this from you, you have no business saying anything! She's _mine_!" It tears through out of literally nowhere; Something random and thoughtlessly said.

I feel my stomach drop at his words. All air leaves my lungs. There is just... a harrowing silence between them.

"She's _yours_? What the fuck, Edward? What is that supposed to even-"

"God, you _know_ what I mean." Edward's voice is deep, helpless. "You know I _never even_ meant it like that, probably not in the way you're thinking. I mean, that she's-" He's having one of those cotton-mouth moments, where he can't seem to explain it and put it into his perspective properly. "It came out wrong. I... I didn't mean that I want to-"

Tanya says something else to him, but her voice is a mere whisper I can't make out. Then I hear footsteps and hurriedly, I shove my backpack on both shoulders and jolt towards the front door, eager to seem as if I haven't been eavesdropping. It's too late.

"Bella, will you just wait a second?"

_Edward. Great._

I don't turn to look at him as he comes closer. I catch, out of the corner of my eye, him grabbing my jacket off the rack near the front door.

"Here, just make sure you wear this today." He shakes my jacket out and steps closer, his voice quiet, distinctively remorseful. His breathing is loud, desperate even. Tanya has clearly put him in his place, made him see the errors of his way. Who would have thought it possible? "The weather forecast this morning said there was a likelihood of it raining today. We both know how unpredictable the Forks weather can be, right? This way you won't be cold. I don't want you catching the flu or getting sick."

It's like he is trying to make nice with me. When I turn to glance back at him, his eyes are on me eagerly, his expression somehow pleading, his eyebrows raised as he waits patiently. He is still holding my jacket out to me, obviously waiting for me to allow him permission first before he goes ahead and puts it on me. Since I was going to take my jacket in case anyway, I just surrender, allowing him to hold it while I put my arms through the sleeves. Once the jackets on, he even goes so far as to take my hair carefully in his hands, lifting it and pulling it out from under the collar. His touch is extra careful and delicate, like he is worried about hurting me somehow.

"Thanks," I mutter grudgingly. "I was going to take it in case anyway. Thanks for reminding me."

Once it's on completely and he lets my hair go, I turn around to face him, forcing a thankful smile on my face. My anger diminishes almost instantly and, after a moment of uncertainty, he smiles back at me, showing his teeth, kind of apologetically.

"I apologize, okay?" he says gently, and he reaches up with his hand to stroke my chin quickly. His eyes scrutinize my face carefully. I guess he really wants this to be quickly resolved between us, this stupid fight. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm bossing you around, or if I'm overbearing to you. I just care about you." I try not to flinch when he steps closer. He raises his hand again and strokes the side of my hair this time gently. "I want you to be okay. I want you to take care of yourself and make sure you remain healthy."

I nod. "I know. And I am taking care of myself," I promise quietly. "You don't need to worry. You should focus more on taking care of yourself."

I'm a bit unprepared for it, when he suddenly leans down, touching his forehead to mine. His forehead is warm and I close my eyes, just letting it be for a few peaceful minutes, listening to his breathing calm down and steady. It's obvious he needs it.

After what seems like a year has passed, Edward finally lifts his head from mine and moves back, stroking my hair one last time with his hand. His eyes search my face for something in it and I have no idea what. But then he clears his throat gently, brings his eyes away from me, and he nods once, as if he is answering some thought inside his own head. He rakes both hands through his hair and I'm self-consciously aware that he watches me as I open the front door and head out into the cold, onwards toward school.

* * *

><p>It's bulleting down with rain once school ends for the day. Thank goodness for Edward reminding me to bring my jacket, otherwise I would have been utterly soaked by the time I reached home while walking. I throw the hood down over my head so it at least stops my hair and face from getting wet, and I shove my hands into the pockets of the jacket so my fingers don't fall off before I go. The jacket helps but the chilly breeze in the air still manages to cut through the material of my clothes, chilling me. I clench my teeth to stop them from chattering as I start through the parking lot and down along the road towards home. It's hard to avoid the puddles on the sidewalk and I know my socks are going to get drenched sooner or later.<p>

It's the worst thing about living in Forks, Washington, I think. It's always overcast and rainy, but you do get used to it after awhile. After all, rain can't kill you, can it?

I'm about twenty-five minutes away from home when a car stops near me on the sidewalk. I don't recognize the old, beaten-down red Honda, but when they honk their horn at me, it's hard not to realize that the driver is evidently waiting for me to hop in. I know about stranger danger and all that stuff, and I know not to just get foolishly into someone's car, especially not a stranger. So I try to ignore them in walking straight past them. That's when the foggy window scrolls down and suddenly a female's voice says, "Bella, get in before you get even wetter!"

It's just Tanya. The tension leaves my body almost instantly and without hesitation, I climb in, sighing in relief. I rub my hands together to get some warm friction into them, then I pull off my hood and buckle my seatbelt up. It's grossly hazy and smoky in her car. She has a lit cigarette between the manicured fingers of her forefinger and middle finger. I had no idea she smokes. Does Edward?

As if somehow reading my mind, she says, "Sssh, don't tell Edward. He doesn't know I smoke. I'm not a big smoker, but I like to occasionally." _Hmmm, that explains it then. _"How was school?" she asks curiously once she pulls back onto the slick wet road.

"Boring. I actually can't wait to start college."

"Oh, I bet." She takes in a deep drag of her cigarette, blows the smoke out through her nostrils, then even dares to offer it to me. "You want a puff?"

"Better not."

"Why not?"

"Smoking kind of grosses me out."

"Yeah," she laughs. "It _is_ an incredibly gross habit, I know."

"I can't even imagine myself becoming a smoker. It just seems so unappealing to me."

"Hey, don't knock it until you try it. It's actually good to have a cig in stressful situations, I find." She offers it to me again, almost daring me to. "Why don't you just even try a little puff? Go on, live a little."

"Edward would kill me, if I ever did. Trust me."

She throws a strange look my way. "God, is he _really that_ protective of you?" I don't bother answering, because I'm assuming after having witnessed our ridiculous argument this morning, that she has already ascertained as much. "He won't kill you if he doesn't find out, will he? Come on, what's one drag?"

She's very convincing. The temptation gets too much, so I just give in, accepting the lit cigarette from her carefully. I take in a curious puff without even knowing what I'm doing. It's too much. Way, way too much. The smoke scratches the back of my throat and before I know it, I'm making a disgusted face and am coughing loudly.

"Wow, that's even worse than I thought it would be." I shudder in disgust, passing the cigarette back to her quickly. "I think you're trying to corrupt me. Well, that is exactly what Edward would think if he knew of this, anyway."

"Hey, don't tell anyone but corrupting you is_ exactly_ what I'm doing," she says jokingly, and she winks at me before taking another puff again. Tanya's cool, I realize, kind of admiringly. She's just so different from me. So much more carefree and exciting, somehow. When we get to the house, we see Edward's car out front. He's already home from work. "_Dum, dum, dun_," she hums like we're in a horror movie, and in a frantic and nervous way, she quickly disposes of the cigarette, tries to wave all the smoke out of the car through the window, and then she starts spraying both of us with perfume to get the stench of smoke off our clothing. The entire thing strikes me as both hilarious and thrilling, the potential of Edward catching us out.

Tanya pretends to squeal in fear when Edward suddenly comes down the front steps towards the car in the driveway, as if we truly are in a horror movie and Edward is the murderer coming to attack us. I can't help laughing at her theatrics and Edward comes straight over to my side to open the door for me, releasing a few bits of trapped smoke in the process. He looks in better spirits than this morning, at least. But then it's kind of shot to hell, when he observes how hazy it is in the car and the stench. Tanya must have forgotten to hide her carton of cigarettes, because Edward spots them almost immediately on the dashboard and arches his eyebrows, looking between us suspiciously. _Damn, damn, damn._

"Why is it so smoky in your car?"

"I had a cigarette," Tanya explains, and I feel my heart surge in relief that she has chosen to deliberately miss out the part where I had a puff of one too. "Did I tell you I'm a bit of a smoker occasionally?"

"You smoked in front of Bella?" He asks slowly, like he is trying to understand completely what has happened. "You were smoking in the car with her? Is that it?" I can tell he is not happy, at all. He is frowning, his eyes on her, demanding and deadly serious. It's like it is such a crime to him, like she's broken the law somehow.

"Um, yeah, I might have." Tanya cringes uncertainly. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"What do you think? Is it such a bad thing?" he asks her, his voice suddenly sarcastic and hard. "Of course, it's a bad thing. She's underage, she shouldn't be exposed to such foulness. What the hell is wrong with you?" Suddenly I'm a little afraid of him when he leans in, unbuckles my seatbelt briskly, and gestures for me to get out. Since he looks so aggravated, I don't dare disobey him. I hop out quickly, pulling my bag with me. "How dare you do that? That's the _second fucking time_!"

"What, you want her to be an innocent, pure little sheltered Mormon or something?" Tanya gets out incredulously. "You want her nowhere near drugs, alcohol, cigarettes? Don't tell me that you didn't experiment when you were a teenager, Edward! She had _one puff_, that's it!"

The casual _one puff_ thing pushes Edward well and truly off the edge, and I can tell.

"She had _one puff_? _One_ puff?" He turns to look at me wildly, as if wanting me to confirm that. He is angry. No, beyond angry. He's everything, all at once. Angry, exasperated, disbelieving. Disappointed in me. "You knew she was underage! What the fuck is wrong with you, Tanya?" He leans against her car, punches the top of it angrily. Tanya is shaking in the seat, and I feel so sorry for her. What has she gotten herself into? "She's_ my_ responsibility now. I don't want her doing all that shit, like smoking! You _took away_ my responsibility, you _undermined_ me!"

"I'm never doing it again," I say loudly, trying to get her out of trouble and come to her aid. "It was just one puff, I was curious! It was totally gross by the way, and I'm never doing it ever again! So just calm down, Edward, okay?"

I can see he is still beyond angry. But with a few deep breaths in through his heaving chest, he finally relents, if grudgingly, to let it all go.

**Hope this one wasn't too terrible? I feel it is, though, and I'm really sorry. I'm trying to write this as realistic as possible, even if it means Edward's character being very unpleasant yet sympathetic at times, but I don't know if I'm failing. I'm just assuming this is what being obsessed is like; It isn't fun, and it can destroy any relationships you do try to embark on to try and forget that other true object of your affection. It must interfere horribly with your social life, work life, even. Thank you guys so much for being so kind and amazing! I would love to hear your thoughts, as always, as they do encourage me!**


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